


the light that burns twice as bright

by Ellisama



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Both a slowburn getting together AND an established relationship, Character Development, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not A Fix-It, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Perfect Timeline (?), Romance, Secret Relationship, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 74,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26934187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellisama/pseuds/Ellisama
Summary: Felix dies at the battle of Fhirdiad only to wake up in a perfect world where he is seventeen again, Glenn is alive and all the tragedies that shaped his life never happened at all.Unsurprisingly, he copes badly.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Glenn Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & My Unit | Byleth, Glenn Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Manuela Casagranda/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Comments: 152
Kudos: 238
Collections: Dimilix Big Bang





	1. a world without shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dimilix Big Bang! Please sit tight, because this fic is a rollercoaster from start to finish. I will be adding tags as I update chapters, because if I would right now, I would give far too much away of the plot.
> 
> Beta'd by [Russo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboy_russo), thanks <3
> 
> Artwork by the lovely [Mikan](https://twitter.com/yadntve) And there is more to come, but that contains heavy heavy spoilers, so just trust me when I say that she will continue to blow all of us out of the park <3

The last thing he remembers before dying is fighting to retake Fhirdiad. They’re always fighting nowadays, his sword more familiar than his own skin. It is an extension of his arm, of his soul. A swing of his weapon, a soldier down, decapitated, repeat. If the man he just cut down had any last words, he doesn’t hear them anymore. There is more blood on him than flows through his veins, but it doesn’t matter. This is war. Fight. Survive. Kill. Endure. It is all the same. 

Kill, or be killed. He thought he had made peace with that inevitable outcome, or as much as he could, at twenty-three. Bleeding is so much easier than crying, than feeling. When the end comes for him, he sees it coming. He sees the dark magic spell that will kill him, but not the lance that deals the final blow. It goes in and out of his body easily, and falling to his knees is easy too. He’s been numb to pain for so long, but the thoughts that come along with it are new.

_Is this how my brother felt when he died? How my father felt when he breathed his last?_

Felix always figured he would go down screaming and fighting until his last breath. In the end, all he does is grasp for his weapon, curse the gods, and listen to a broken voice calling his name.

That last part doesn’t come easily, hurts more than the blood flooding his lungs. It’s the last thing he remembers until darkness envelops him, and he is no more. 

Until he suddenly is. A spark, a tiny, brilliant pulse of light. That’s how it starts. For what seems like an eternity, Felix solely exists in the space that stretches between sleeping and waking. It’s a lot like peace, or what he remembers of it. If he still knows what peace is like. 

If this is the afterlife, Felix doesn’t like it one bit. 

Slowly, the world around him takes shape. A soft pillow underneath his head. The heavy blankets that make it hard to breathe. The pain, every now and then unbearable, then just an echo in his bones. 

He survived, then. He doesn’t know whether or not he feels angry about that, so Felix settles on being angry about having that doubt in the first place. 

He flickers in and out of consciousness, always grasping at reality but never quite catching it. Sometimes, he can stay cognizant long enough to recognize Ingrid and Sylvain's voices among the whispering at his bedside. They're always either too close or too far away, and he can never hear what they're talking about. Byleth is there, once. Her voice is clear at least, but her words don't make sense. What unsettles him most are the voices of people who are long dead. Felix keeps his eyes squeezed shut whenever his father's or - goddess forbid - his brother's voice haunts him. 

He’s alive, probably. But the injury he took that made his entire body ache and mind whirl must have been bad. Really, _really_ bad, because what other than yet another Fraldarius dying could explain Dimitri?

Dimitri, sitting next to his bed, holding his hand underneath the covers. Actually stroking it, skin to skin. His fingers are rough and calloused, but his touch is soft when he traces circles into the inside of his palm. Felix can't remember the last time he saw Dimitri without his gauntlets, felt the heat of his skin against his own. It must have been before the tragedy. Over a decade has passed since then, but he can still blindly pick Dimitri from a crowd based on the feeling of his skin alone. 

_Pathetic_ , Felix scoffs at nobody but himself. 

When he finally has enough energy, he dares to steal a look at Dimitri. His vision is blurry at the edges, and he can barely keep his eyes open, but the few seconds are enough to form a picture in his mind. He looks unguarded and uncomplicated. He smiles as Dimitri did at thirteen, before everything went to hell. It makes him look young in a way Felix can’t quite explain, like they are seventeen again. It doesn’t make sense: neither at seventeen nor at twenty-three has Dimitri ever smiled like that at him.

 _Oh_ , Felix thinks with sudden, elusive clarity. _I'm dreaming._

He quickly closes his eyes again and hopes the dream will continue just a little longer. 

-

-

-

> A memory, a vision or another dream? He doesn’t know. 
> 
> Felix wakes up in a bed in Fhirdiad, cushioned by sheets that are familiar, yet not his own. They’re Dimitri’s sheets, royal blue just like they were back when they were twelve and unspoiled by war and tragedy. Back when the only defensive structures he studied were blanket forts. It’s warm, comforting. 
> 
> It’s wrong.
> 
> Dimitri is there. He looks worse than usual, despite the fact that he looks exactly like the last time they fought, side by side, like his father would have wanted. Sylvain is there too, looking paler than death itself, and Ingrid looks like she hasn’t slept in days. His limbs feel heavy, unfamiliar. He is like a stranger in his own skin.
> 
> Felix looks around, searches for things that should be there but aren’t. When he manages to lift his hand, all he finds is a sword, conveniently placed within reach.
> 
> When he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Where…?” 
> 
> Ingrid wipes the sweat from his brow with a steady hand. Her smile feels older than it should be. “Don’t strain yourself. It will take a few more days before the healing magic has fully run its course.” 
> 
> He doesn’t listen to her, or rather, he cannot. His body moves on his own. He feels himself take a deep, rattling breath, and wonder out loud: “Where…. is... _Glenn_?” 
> 
> Ingrid’s hand stiffens, and Dimitri turns around abruptly, scurrying out of the room like a scolded child. Glenn still isn’t there - won’t be there because he is _dead_ and has been for many years. But he keeps looking for him regardless, repeating his question like a mantra. 
> 
> Ingrid bites her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. She says nothing until Sylvain gently pushes her away and steals her spot at his bedside. He smiles comfortingly at him. Right before he opens his mouth to speak, Felix remembers with sudden clarity that between the four of them, Sylvain has always been the best liar. 
> 
> “Felix,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Glenn has been dead for nearly a decade, remember?” 

-

-

-

Felix wakes up suddenly, like someone doused him in ice-cold water. His dream seems clearer than the world around him, blurry and too bright, but he knows it must be a dream because it doesn’t make any sense! _O_ f _course_ Felix remembers Glenn is dead! He knows it intimately, like a scar that never healed quite right and aches whenever he least expects it. He is reminded of it every time he looks in the mirror and sees his brother frowning back at him. 

He _knows_ his brother is dead. Better than anyone else.

Which is why he nearly has a panic attack when he blinks and sees his mirror image sitting on the corner of his bed. Or rather, _a_ bed he happens to occupy at the moment. 

_I’m dead or dreaming again,_ Felix thinks. There is no other explanation. 

He looks around, a feat that costs him far more energy than it should. He’s at the infirmary in Garreg Mach. He lets his eyes rest for a moment on the vacant chair next to his bed where Dimitri sat. Remembers his touch. His smile. Was that a dream too? Or are they both dead?

“Awake again?” A voice he only hears in his sweetest dreams and his darkest nightmares asks lightly. “You gave us quite a scare, you know? We rode all the way from Fhirdiad when we heard what happened. Dad’s proud of you, by the way. It’s infuriating.” 

Felix blinks. The ghost does not fade away. A hot summer breeze blows through the familiar stranger’s hair. It’s shorter than he remembers but just as black and twice as curly. He looks older than the eighteen years he spent on Sothis’ green earth, but the teasing glittering in his blue eyes is exactly as he remembers it. 

It’s _Glenn_. 

Felix opens his mouth, but as soon as he does realizes that he has nothing to say, and quickly looks away. His fists clench in the sheets. He won’t become like Dimitri, a slave to his personal ghosts. His words are for the living only, if he can still be counted amongst them.

The strange, aged-up version of his dead brother slaps his wrist lightly. “Hey, stop being a brat already,” Not-Glenn says. “Are you really going to ignore me? I can’t believe you’re seriously still upset that father gave me that sword instead of you?” 

_‘What sword?’_ Felix almost asks but doesn’t. He bites his lip to keep the words inside, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste and light sting are familiar at least. The fact that pain brings him comfort is something he doesn’t want to think too deeply about. 

What isn’t familiar are warm hands fussing over him, feeling exactly like that one last pat on his shoulder Glenn gave him before he rode off to Duscur, never to return again. “Shit, you’re bleeding Fe,” Not-Glenn says, dabbing away the small trail of blood that has started to create red spots on the pristine white sheets. Felix must have bit down on his lip harder than he thought he did.

A ghost of a memory flashes before his eyes. Blue sheets. Ingrid. Sylvain. _Dimitri_.

Glenn is dead; Sylvain said so himself. Felix knows this like he knows his sword, intimately, instinctively. But it is no ghost that summons a quick healing spell to fix up the wound. It feels real, not unlike his father’s fortify, but far less powerful. 

“G-glenn…?” He croaks out, barely recognizing his own voice. “Am I… d-dead?” 

He doesn’t feel dead. There is no Goddess, welcoming him home. Or, more realistically, this does not look like the Eternal Flames he is certainly destined to end up in after death. So not the afterlife, then. A dream. But it certainly doesn’t feel like any dream he has ever had before. 

Maybe-Glenn gives him a strange look. “Damn kid, you really hit your head hard, didn’t you?” 

_‘I’m not a kid; I’m older than you ever got to be,’_ Felix would say if his throat didn’t feel like it was made of sanding paper. If he wasn’t very busy staring at his brother, alive and fussing over the bandages wrapped around his head while complaining sarcastically. 

This isn’t a dream then, but a nightmare. Life has been a nightmare for years now, so if he wasn’t convinced he was alive yet, he is now.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’m getting Manuela,” Maybe-Glenn says after observing him getting a grasp on reality for a spell. 

Nothing makes sense in this dream. Why would he dream about Manuela? She joined the Empire after the fall of Garreg Mach. Why would Not-Glenn want anything to do with that traitorous bitch? 

Before he can form the words, Glenn is gone, and all that remains in the infirmary are white sheets and flowers. Felix exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He grasps around in search for his sword, his muscles aching from disuse. Recovery is going to be a pain in the ass, but he has seen people come back from worse. People with less sense of self-preservation than him. Dimitri is still alive after all, _somehow_.

He tries to sit up. It hurts, but not as much as the fear that’s starting to settle into his bones. Nothing makes sense: the infirmary hasn’t looked this pristine in years, and although they have made strides in restoring the monastery to its former glory, they still have a long way to go for it to look like _this._

The door swings open with far more force than necessary, and if Felix had any more strength left in his body, he would have jolted up into a defensive position, ready to strike. 

“Felix!” Someone calls his name, too familiar. 

Felix knows he can’t fight, so he bares his teeth in defiance instead. They’re still bloody from his earlier mishap, and Felix prays that the threat alone will be enough to ward off any would-be attacker.

It isn’t. Before he can truly comprehend who that voice belongs to, the blur of black and blue has propelled himself into his arms and squeezes him tightly. A hand snakes its way to the back of his neck, stroking his nape almost possessively, and Felix _knows_ the feel of this particular warm skin against his own. 

He stiffens and groans from either pain or shock, but probably both. _Nothing makes sense, damnit!_

His assailant jumps off him the second he notices his discomfort. “My apologies, Felix. I ran into Glenn and when he said you were finally awake, I couldn’t contain myself.” 

Felix stares, and keeps staring. _That…_ is not Dimitri, unless he suddenly lost an odd ten centimeters in height yet somehow gained an eye, along with a general love for life. He looks like he hasn't slept in days rather than years, and survived on more than just rats and imperial scraps. Which Felix _knows_ to be the case, since he has heard Dedue and the Professor worry about it several times. He looks young, eighteen at most. Dimitri looks at him with worry but also relief, but he looks _alive_. The beast that has been creeping behind his eyes is nowhere to be found. 

_This is not the boar,_ Felix realizes. _This is what his Dimitri could have been at seventeen if the beast hadn’t consumed him._

Felix nearly throws up. He slowly lies down and closes his eyes. Maybe if he pretends to sleep, his ghosts will get the message and go away. It works with Sylvain sometimes, though never with Ingrid, who would keep nagging him until he eventually gave in to her demands.

This phantom Dimitri does neither. “Felix! Please, did I hurt you? Please don’t close your eyes before Manuela is here!” he cries out, shaking his body and making everything worse.

“Stop it, boar,” he scoffs instinctually.

Dimitri stills. “W-what did you call me?” He asks hesitantly. “Bore? Is my concern truly that boring to you?” 

Felix rolls his eyes behind his eyelids but otherwise doesn’t deign him with an answer.

“Don’t ignore me! I’m still mad at you, although I will admit to being far more pleased that you’re awake again,” teenage Dimitri rants sternly, his hands still stroking his wrist, his hands, his cheeks, every part of his skin that isn’t covered in bandages or clothing. Why are his delusions so touchy-feely? “Why did you take that hit for me? Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you fall into my arms like a rag doll? Can you imagine how I felt when you stopped breathing, and we thought you were dead?” 

_‘Yes,’_ Felix thinks but does not say. He knows that feeling intimately, as it had been his constant companion ever since he heard about Dimitri’s execution. The feeling had haunted him whenever he wasn’t exhausted enough to fall asleep the second his head hit his pillow, not unlike Dimitri’s ghost right now. 

Felix grits his jaw and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. _‘This isn’t real,’_ he chants to himself, over and over again. 

“Talk to me, look at me, _please_ ,” Dimitri pleads, _still_ touching him. “Felix, please. We were all so frightened.” 

“Well, if I didn’t think he had brain damage before, I’m certain he does now,” Maybe-Glenn says, and Felix grits his teeth stubbornly. “Never thought I’d see the day where Felix would voluntarily refuse attention from you, Your Highness.” 

“Professor Manuela!” Dimitri lets go of his hand lightning fast. “And Glenn! Please, do not call me that.” 

“No can do, little prince.” Felix hears something that sounds suspiciously like a hand ruffling through hair. “Don’t worry your royal head too much. Professor Manuela is a miracle worker. Which is a good thing because you look like shit, Felix.”

“Fuck you too,” Felix hisses back on instinct.

“Felix!” Dimitri exclaims scandalously as if Felix hasn’t said much worse to his face on a daily basis.

Glenn’s laugh is warm and jovial, and it feels like a kick in the gut. “Love you too, lil bro.” 

Manuela’s voice is exactly like Felix remembers it to be, melodic but distinctly annoyed. “Could you both please leave the infirmary? Visitor hours are over, and I need to examine my patient. Besides, I think I told _you_ you weren’t welcome here before you got at least a full night’s sleep, Dimitri?” 

“Ah...yes, of course, Professor. My apologies.”

Felix wants to _barf_.

“Good, so you do remember. Now, leave and get some rest. Doctor’s orders.” 

He hears Dimitri stammer some kind of excuse, but that’s not what makes him open his eyes ever so slightly. A soft press of lips against his brow, a ghost of a touch he can’t help but lean into. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, Fe,” Glenn whispers into his ear. “See you soon.”

Felix forgets how to breathe as a memory assaults him. He’s standing in the snow next to his father, sniffling despite being far too old to cry. Glenn is talking to his father, dressed in the regalia that designates him as one of the King’s personal guard. Their father scolds Felix for his tears, but Glenn only teases him goodnaturedly. Felix doesn’t remember what he said, only that it made him cry even harder. 

He was jealous, Felix remembers, because Glenn was allowed to go to Duscur with Dimitri while he was stuck in Fraldarius with his father. He doesn’t recall what he said to Glenn, but it was probably something pathetic or else Glenn wouldn’t have bent down and pressed a kiss on his forehead, nor whispered those very same words into his ear.

 _“We’ll be back as soon as we can, Fe. See you soon,”_ Eighteen-year-old Glenn promised, and then vanished into the beginnings of a snowstorm. 

They didn’t see each other soon, or ever again for that matter. All that returned of Glenn was his sword and that thrice damned armor. 

It’s too much. Almost detached, he feels his body convulse and stiffen, his eyes wide open involuntarily, burning with tears that never fall. He might be either dead, dreaming, or delusional, but he still has his pride. The world fades in and out of existence, shaking and soundless. 

And then, after what feels like both a moment as well as an eternity, the sparkling stars in his vision fade, and he can finally breathe again. He feels Dimitri’s trembling hands on him again, holding his head. Felix is too tired to resist leaning into the touch.

Glenn’s voice filters through the haze, but it sounds like he is underwater. “What’s happening to him?”

Manuela ignores him. “Take a deep breath, kid,” she says, equally distant. Only after she repeats it twice more does Felix realize she is talking to him, and he realizes the wheezing sounds are coming from his throat.

 _Focus._ Felix thinks of a sword, moving up, slicing through, sheathing again. He breathes in through his nose, counts to seven and breathes outs out through his mouth with a whooshing sound. In his mind, he runs through a kata, again and again and again, until the little earthquakes are nothing but a distant tremor.

“Very good, Felix.” Manuela’s praise brings him back, but he doesn’t stop his breathing exercise. Byleth taught it to him after their first major battle, when the blood on his hands still burned. 

He is grateful when she orders the ghosts out of his room, and they begrudgingly leave. He doesn’t listen to their parting words before Manuela slams the door shut behind them. The sound rings in his ears. She examines him, changes his bandages, and asks him a few questions. Her healing magic is potent but calming. Slowly, the world comes back into focus.

Manuela heals his throat enough for him to answer a few questions, like what year it is.

“It’s 1185,” he repeats when she asks him again.

“Strange,” Manuela says. Her hands glow green around his head, and he feels both light-headed and more clear at the same time. “I can’t feel any signs of lingering brain damage.”

Felix is too tired to insult her properly and settles for a glare.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Garreg Mach.”

She nods. “Correct. What is the last thing you remember?”

 _Blood, everywhere_. Fhirdiad calling for their King’s triumphant return. A vow to stand by Dimitri’s side in his father’s stead. Blaiddyd blue. Cornelia’s false laugh, directed not at him but at… Dimitri. Yes, it had been Dimitri, trying to talk down that witch, allowing himself to be distracted. He remembers seeing the mage charge his magic spell, ready to strike. He remembers his body moving with absolute certainty, shielding-

Felix shakes his head and pushes the memories down. It’s in the past. 

Manuela misinterprets the gesture for denial. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I remember _dying_ ,” Felix grits out between his teeth.

Manuela stares at him for a moment, her eyes almost comically wide. Then she starts laughing, quite obviously at his expense. “Youth! So dramatic. You’re alive, my dear. Alive enough to give me a headache,” she says, theatrically wiping tears from her eyes. When she notices that Felix does not share her mirth, she hides her smile behind a mask of professionalism. “You took a bad hit for His Highness, and although he was certain you were dying, you pulled through. The mage was taken care of swiftly by your professor, and together they raced you back to the monastery afterward.”

Felix blinks a few times. “But… Fhirdiad?” He asks carefully, almost afraid of the answer.

“What of it?”

He swallows deeply, fearing the worst. “Did we… win?”

“The bandits were routed, if that is what you mean,” Manuela explains languidly, waving her hand dramatically in the air. “Magdred Way is safe for merchants once again.”

They had consolidated Magdred Way months ago, driven the bandits and looters from the lands surrounding the monastery with a few strategic battles and plenty of rumors of the feared one-eyed beast of Garreg Mach. 

Felix falters. But the Dimitri he had just seen had two eyes and none of the beastliness. He cradles his head between his shaking hands, feeling his headache increase. None of this makes any sense! If not dead, if not dreaming, then what the hell is going on? It is almost as if he is seventeen again, and-

Wait. Wait a fucking second. 

“What year is it?” He groans out, a shiver racing up his spine.

It can’t be. It can’t - _fucking_ \- be. 

Manuela, unaware of his inner struggles, confirms his worst suspicions. “It is Wyvern Moon of the Imperial Year 1180. You were barely conscious for a few days.” 

This time Felix is unable to keep himself from retching up what little food remained in his stomach. When he has nothing left to give, he falls back into his pillow, shaking from head to toe. Manuela cleans him up professionally, and gives him a pitying smile. He would swat her hands away if he wasn’t so busy screaming at himself, his life and everything. How did this happen? He feels the sweat drip down his brow, his fingers shake and his head pound furiously. It feels as real as the sheets draped over him, as white as snow. 

As much as he wants to believe this is a dream, there is hard evidence that it isn’t. Everything feels too real. This is the Eternal Flames, then. Did he die, and wake up seventeen again? Being tied to a bed for the rest of his afterlife to be visited by all his loved ones seemed like a light punishment for a fool like him, but it was nothing like the scriptures said it would be. 

Felix tries to get up, but his limbs don’t cooperate.

“You look as pale as a ghost, my dear,” Manuela comments, and gently guides him back into the bed. Felix feels cold sweat drip down his back.

“... Glenn.”

“What’s wrong? Are you going to be sick again?” 

Felix shakes his head. “Glenn, Father… are they...” _Alive? Okay? Burning in the Eternal Flames along with me?_ Felix never claimed to be a master of tact, but saying the words makes his mouth feel dry.

“They’re here,” Manuela says with soft eyes, and she pats his shoulder almost maternally. Odd, but he can file that away for later. “I can call for your brother, if that will make you feel better. Your father is here as well, and will be glad to know you are awake. But we can’t risk another seizure, so I’m wary to provide you with too much stimulus...”

“I’m fine,” he grits out, and tries to get out of bed again, with even less success than last time. 

If not death, if not a dream or a nightmare, then where the hell is he?

Manuela rolls her eyes. “Rest. Your body is healing well, but dark magic can mess with your mind. Luckily, the brain is resilient. Given time and proper care, your memories might return soon.”

She offers him a glass of foul-smelling liquid. Sleeping medication, probably. Under normal circumstances he would rather suffer from excruciating pain than compromise his senses, but nothing since he woke up can be called normal. Garreg Mach is fully intact, his brother is alive and if Manuela is to be believed, five horrible years have melted away like snow under the summer sun.

Felix takes the glass with shaking hands and downs it in one go. These are not normal circumstances, and he’s tired on a level that goes beyond the body. Maybe if he falls asleep quickly, he will wake up in a world that makes sense. 

-

-

-

> He dreams of a more familiar world. It’s raining outside, and he clings to silky blue sheets like a lifeline. Ingrid is crying which is…. awful. He doesn’t know what to do with it, save for crying along. Except he never cries, didn’t even cry when his father died. He hasn’t cried since Glenn died. 
> 
> But Glenn isn’t dead (right?) and tears are streaming down his face. No, Glenn is dead, and so is his father. They’re at war, and although they have just reclaimed Fhirdiad, the Alliance is about to fall to the Empire. Dimitri is nowhere to be seen.
> 
> His wounds ache familiarly. They’re magical, he can tell now by the pulsing pain soaring through his veins. Byleth - the professor? - stands in the corner of the room and eyes him strangely.
> 
> Felix hears himself ask her some questions he knows the answers to, but the dream fades away before she can say them out loud.

-

-

-

When he wakes up again, it is in the same damned infirmary room he fell asleep in last time. The sheets are just as white and Manuela is just as annoyed by his insistence to get out of the bed. 

_Whatever_. He once scorched half of the skin of his arm off with a Thoron gone wrong, and still kept fighting until the sun went down and the fields were painted red with blood. 

Carefully, Felix bunches up the fabric of his sleeve until his skin is bared. It’s as pale and unmarred as it was at seventeen, no sign of the spider web lightning scar he has borne since that battle, since he was twenty. 

Felix gulps. Still in the past then, or a dream of the past. He quickly pulls his sleeve back down, and tries not to look suspicious. 

Now that the pain is fading and his body is recovering, his thoughts are more ordered. He remembers being hit by a spell, Imperial Dark Magic to be exact. His father may have wished for him to follow in his brother’s footsteps as a knight, but under Byleth’s tutelage he never touched a single horse. Instead he became a swordmaster and mortal savant, and when needed, an assassin. His experience in that class is what makes him keep his mouth firmly shut. He doesn’t know where he is, but he’s not waking up into a world he knows any time soon. Better to play along for now, stay under the radar, regain his strength and gather information.

He steels his resolve, and tries to act as normal as usual.

Except that is easier said than done when his father - freshly woken up from the grave and looking years younger - appears next visiting hour.  
  
“Felix, my son,” he says warmly. Far more warmly than Felix can remember he has looked at him in many years. “It’s good to see you are awake.” 

A traitorous longing wells up in his heart and he has to look away to hide the shame that makes his cheeks burn bright red. It had not just been his father who put that distance between them, who put off every attempt to close the ever-widening gap between them. Funny, how death makes you realize what you lost.

Rodrigue closes the door of the infirmary behind him. “You scared us quite a bit. How are you feeling now?” 

“Better every day,” Felix grits out, trying not to sound sarcastic. He has to bite the inside of his cheek not to say something hurtful along with it, and hates that that is his first reflex when talking to his father.

“Good to hear,” Rodrigue says, and settles down on the chair next to his bed. Dimitri’s chair, his deranged medicine-addled mind supplies. 

An awkward silence stretches between them, and this at least feels familiar, like every dinner they shared after Glenn died, save for the ones that ended in him either screaming at his father or stomping away before he ate more than a few bites.

After the dust of Gronder had settled, Felix had spent many nights poring over neatly written pages of his father’s journals, listening to the way his curtains fluttered in the wind, wondering: what would he say to his father if they could speak one last time? 

He remembers tears refusing to come, waking up with a stiff neck and ink on his face from falling asleep on his father’s last written words. At that time, it felt as if he had a hundred questions left to ask. Apologies to make. Things to discuss. Now that he has the chance, his mind comes up short.

When he looks up to say anything at all, he finds his father staring at him strangely.

“What? Is there something on my face?” He spits out venomously, and mentally kicks himself immediately after. Great. His inner Ingrid scolds him for his lack of decorum, and for once she is probably right.

“A few more scrapes than usual, but you’re in excellent care here, so I have no doubt they will not mar your face permanently,” his father replies with a carefree laugh, and he ruffles Felix’s long hair. It’s far longer than he has had the luxury of keeping it in years, and that should have been his first sign that this wasn’t the world he had grown used to in the past five years of constant warfare.

Felix exhales deeply and allows himself to lean into the touch. It’s… not so bad, although he will rather die than admit that out loud.

And then his father ruins the moment. “I am very proud of you... Protecting His Highness from those mages. You acted like a true knight.”

“Like a true knight?” Felix spits the words out like they are poison on his lips. “And if I had died, what would you have said at my funeral? That I died like a true knight? That my sacrifice was for the greater good, and that I should not be mourned? Is _that_ what you’re fucking saying?” 

“Felix!” His father scolds him, looking scandalized. “We are in the house of the Goddess! Where did you pick up such foul language?”

His father actually looks upset. It reminds him of when he was younger - fourteen and grieving fiercely, with nobody in the world hearing a word he was saying. He doesn’t remember their argument, but he does remember hitting his father hard, as a final plea to make him listen. His father hadn’t hit him back, but he looked just as sad then.

Felix grits his teeth and turns onto his other side, away from Rodrigue. “Just fucking leave me alone already. I’m done talking to you.” 

“Do not speak to me like that young man!” His father rears to his feet, but instead of listening Felix closes his eyes and pretends to sleep. “Felix! What has gotten into you?” 

From the other side of the room, a voice quite like his own cuts through. Glenn, or Not-Glenn rather. “Brain damage, probably.” Felix curses the Goddess repeatedly. “Feeling better, little fool?” 

“ _Great_ ,” Felix drones out sarcastically at his family (whose graves he dug himself, who he _knows_ are dead. Why are they haunting him now? Why whywhywhy—)

He closes his eyes and feels an increasingly familiar migraine popping up. “Leave me alone, Manuela ordered me to rest.” 

He is so familiar with his father’s disappointed look that he doesn’t even need to open his eyes to know it is there. “That’s Professor Casagranda for you while you are at school. Please show her proper respect. Just because we are currently courting—

Felix whirls around in his bed just in time to see Glenn all but begging their father to stop talking. His father? _Dating_? He certainly never entertained any women after Glenn’s death, or at least not when he was around. 

“Please, Father. I don’t want to hear what you do with your girlfriend!” Glenn groaned.

“That’s—” Rodrigue sputters, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“ _Disgusting_ ,” Felix and Glenn say at the same time, with the same tone of voice. 

Glenn comes in for a high five, and Felix awkwardly returns it. His brother’s hand is almost the same size as his own. There are a lot more similarities, but Felix would rather die than acknowledge any of them. 

Rodrigue deflates, unaware of Felix’s internal turmoil. “I see I am outvoted here. She truly is-” 

“Can’t hear you!” Glenn chants like an actual eight-year-old, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Please Felix, I am in dire need for a change of subject before Dad takes your silence as an invitation to start detailing his _passionate romance_. Or I’m telling _Dima_ you wet the bed.” 

Felix crosses his arms and raises a single brow, unimpressed. “Go ahead, see if I care.” 

“Boys, _please_.” 

“Shut it, dad,” Glenn says without any venom in his voice and sits down at the end of the bed. Felix tries to kick him off it, but his legs are still too weak. Damnit. “Seriously, stop acting like a baby. You’re too old for this.” 

Felix tries and fails again to kick Glenn off the bed, who remains perfectly balanced. He’s not getting any rest until he shuts them both up now is he? “How old am I?” 

Glenn looks at him unimpressed. “ _Great_ joke, seriously, I’ve heard His Highness tell better ones. You’re spending too much time with him,” he drawls out sarcastically. 

Felix glares at him foully, refusing to repeat his question.

Suddenly he feels his father’s warm hand on his forehead, and it takes every bit of his training to reign in his reflexes and not deck him in the face immediately. Rodrigue asks, carefully: “Do you not remember?” 

“Would I ask you if I did?” Felix looks away, feeling thirteen all over again. He feels Glenn shift on the foot of his bed, hesitating. Worried, but won’t say it, won’t show it. 

“You’re seventeen, Felix. You’re turning eighteen in a few months,” his father says delicately. “Manuela told me you were recovering well.” 

“I have a killer headache and you’re not making it better.” 

His father sighs deeply and gets up from his chair. “We’ll leave you to your rest, then,” he says, and motions for Glenn to follow him. “Take care and call for us if you need anything. I will have to return to Fhirdiad soon, but-.”

His father trails off, uncertain. An awkward silence stretches between them while his father and brother prepare to leave him to his peace. As he had requested. It sounds like heaven, and _yet_.

Many times during the war he had wondered what he would give for one more chance to have his family together. For the world to make sense again. The stars, his favorite sword and a couple of toes, probably. What is a headache compared to that?

“Wait,” he calls out, kicking himself mentally, blood rushing to his cheeks. “You... can stay. If you want.” 

His father shakes his head. “No need to—” 

“I… want you to,” Felix grits out between his teeth, swallowing twice before he is able to whisper out the words: “I’ve… missed you.” 

Rodrigue’s smile is broader than it was when he first saw Dimitri again at Ailell, and Felix feels warm because he is humiliated and definitely not because of any other emotion.

“Awwww, baby brother misses daddy,” Glenn coos teasingly, but when he settles back into his previous spot he gently rubs his feet. “Want me to read a bedtime story to you?” 

“I’ve changed my mind. Get the fuck out.” 

“ _Felix,_ ” reprimands his father.

“Lucky for you, Ingrid just returned one of your favorite books to me.” Glenn continues on without a hitch. “Once upon a time, there was a young knight. Those who met him feared him, for his words were as sharp as they were true. But his friends know better, know his heart is kind even if it is closed. This is the tale of….”

It’s the headache that makes his eyes water, not the memories of many nights spent together, huddled under a blanket, reading this same book. Glenn’s reading voice is soothing and calm, exactly like he remembers it. 

Felix closes his eyes and tries not to get lost in the memories. He feels heavy in his limbs and his mind, but Glenn keeps reading, one word after the other. His father hand brushes his hair out of his face every now and then, soft and comforting, and Felix feels like he’s choking on all the things he never said. 

Eventually, he falls asleep listening to the story of the life of a knight, told in a melodious voice by a knight that died long ago. 

-

-

-

> He dreams of visiting the grave of a knight who died too young. They say all that returned of him was a sword and his armor, but Felix knows that is not true. Dimitri is standing next to him, looking both starved for words and solemn with silence.

-

-

-

The next few days are a blur of familiar, albeit younger, faces. Annette is one of the first to visit, ever a constant in his life. She complains loudly about his lack of manners, but equally eagerly brings him up to date with recent classes - that he had already completed what seems like a lifetime ago - and promises to bring him his homework - that he already neglected to do the previous time and has no plans on doing this time around. 

She is followed by Mercedes who, apparently, in this reality is a nun at the convent rather than a student. Rafail gem glisters around her neck, and she looks satisfied in a way he can’t remember ever seeing her. They don’t talk much, but when she leaves she wishes him well.

 _‘This is not a dream,’_ Felix tells himself while pushing himself through Manuela’s exercises. The burn of aching muscles is comfortably familiar, and it gives him something to hold onto in this world. _‘And I’m not dead.’_

All he knows is that he’s stuck here, in a dream-like, perfect world, probably of his own creation. He doesn’t know why, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting back. 

Manuela tells him his memories will return, but they don’t. He doesn’t tell her about what he does remember, and instead tries to acquaint himself with his teenage body. It’s weak and inferior, but this, at least, he knows how to remedy. An alternate reality in which all is well? Not so much.

  
He needs more information. Sylvain visits him briefly and provides none. Felix pretends to be too tired to talk and listens instead, biting his tongue. His old friend prattles on about his latest girlfriend, but leaves before long to prepare for his reason class with Lorenz. They walk away amicably, as if Sylvain hadn’t been the one to cut him down mere months ago, the Lance of Ruin ripping straight through Lorenz’s armor.

Dimitri visits every day, more often alone than not. In lieu of actually knowing how to face a monster that never was, Felix bides his time pretending to be asleep while Dimitri talks about things Glenn said or whatever new technique their professor taught him. Sometimes he doesn’t say anything, instead electing to caress his hand with more gentleness than Felix can ever remember him showing, as if he is something precious to behold, something breakable. The trail traced by Dimitri’s fingers over his skin tingles long after he has left.

At night, Felix stares up at the ancient woodwork of the ceiling, and tries to make sense of the world, mixed feelings making his heart beat fast in his chest. It feels almost as if he ended up in a foreign country of which he barely speaks the language, so out of touch he feels with his supposed peers. Was he ever this young and careless?

He crushes the thought before it can weigh him down. He has lived his entire adult life not looking back, and he is not about to start now. All he needs are answers, a plan and a sword. 

Ingrid at least proves useful. When she helps him with his stretches, her hands are softer and her frown less practiced. She scolds him for his recklessness but praises him for his diligence, which makes him want to barf. Glenn’s engagement ring rests proudly on her finger instead of in a grave in Fraldarius. 

In the middle of a deep stretch, that he could usually do in his sleep but now struggles with, he casually asks her: “What happened in Duscur, back in 1176?”

“You mean the Bravery of Duscur?” Felix nods like he knows what she is talking about. “Glenn said you lost some memories, but I thought he was just teasing you again.” 

“My memory has a few holes in it,” Felix lies awkwardly, and hopes it goes unnoticed. “And I’d rather die than ask him.” That part at least is true.

Ingrid looks at him fondly. “You’re both idiots,” she says before retrieving a book from her school bag and handing it to Felix. “Here, take this.” 

“Fodlan: A History,” Felix reads out loud. The book is thicker than it has any right to be and he already regrets asking Ingrid, a notorious bookworm almost up to par with Ashe. “Don’t you need this?” 

She looks away. “I decided to drop history since I’m not taking advanced Reason anyway, so you can keep it. Magic isn’t really my field of interest anyway.” 

“Last time I checked, Faith was part of the Holy Knight certification.” 

A look of longing crosses over Ingrid’s face, quickly covered up. “Like I would ever find the time to train for it, let alone use it,” she says quickly, brusquely. Felix knows her too well to believe her. “I’ll leave that to Glenn.” 

_Don’t you want to be a knight?_ Felix almost says but doesn’t. It’s none of his business, and if one less of his friends wants to throw away their life in the name of a pointless ideal, he is not going to complain. 

Instead they silently work through a routine of stretches and exercises. When she leaves, he takes the tome she left behind on the table beside his bed and starts to read. He continues until the morning light comes. His hair is messy and dark circles shadow his eyes, but he is armed with enough knowledge to bring a nation to its knees on top of a migraine from trying to make sense of it all. 

Somewhere in the early morning he must have fallen asleep, because he dreams of the events he has just read about almost as if he is reliving a memory.

When the king’s party was attacked at Duscur, the people of a nearby town rallied to their side and defeated the attackers, whose affiliation until this day is unknown. Among the many brave men and women, one blacksmith in particular distinguished himself, and, as reward for his bravery, King Lambert knighted him. Felix dreams of meeting his dark-skinned son back in Fhirdiad, a few years older but already taller than he will ever be. He remembers the stars in Dimitri’s eyes as he describes how he and Dedue had fought and protected each other despite not speaking the same language, and above all, dreams of the sting of jealousy he felt.

Felix dreams of traveling as his brother’s squire through the Empire and the Alliance. He dreams of eleven Imperial princes and princesses playing around in the garden, and a girl with lavender eyes just like the Queen’s. He remembers meeting the prince of Almyra while he was visiting his grandfather in Deirdre, and sparring with Khalid until they were both covered in dirt and grinning from ear to ear.

He remembers Dimitri at fifteen, the rebellion, fighting together. The history book told him they suppressed a minor uprising and increased the stability of the Kingdom. The book did not mention this: bloody hands grasping his own like a lifeline, his heart beating louder than ever before, hushed promises exchanged in the privacy of the royal tent. There is no beast except the one that is clawing in his chest.

When Manuela wakes him up in the morning for his breakfast, his eyes are bloodshot and his throat is straining with words he will never say. 

* * *

Armed with the knowledge to fill in the gaps in his memory, Felix all but throws himself into his exercises. Within days he is able to walk without fainting, the wounds on his skin not healed, but healing. When the bandages come off, Manuela hands him a mirror.

He sees ~~Glenn~~ _weakness_ staring back at him, and he doesn’t like it. He all but throws the mirror back into her hands and vows to train harder.

Rodrigue and Glenn leave a week after he wakes up. They wish him well and apologize briefly for not being able to stay longer. 

“Duty to the crown comes first,” his father says solemnly, but not before forcing him and Glenn to witness his painfully clumsy flirting with Manuela. If this was how he had courted his mother, then it was a sheer miracle that Glenn and Felix were ever conceived. _Disgusting._

His family has never been keen on overt physical displays of affection, not even when his mother was still alive. They don’t hug before parting, but Glenn messes up his hair until his bun is lopsided, and his father puts a solemn hand on his shoulder and says: “Son, I’m proud of you,” in a way that is so utterly sincere that Felix almost throws up again. 

Anger fires within his veins, memories of those same words ordered into a different sentence. He doesn’t want his father to be proud of him, but at the same time— 

_But the same time—_

Felix kills the intrusive thought and banishes its remains from his mind violently. He shakes his father’s hand off his shoulder and readjusts his hair. 

If the history book is to be believed, the roads are safe and his father more than capable of taking care of any bandit that might show up. But Felix has seen more men than make up his father’s battalion fall on roads that were well lit and supposedly safe. A memory flashes before his mind’s eye. His father’s corpse, lifeless in Dimitri’s arms. Glenn’s armor, burned almost beyond recognition. 

_They’re dead,_ he reminds himself. But his eyes tell him a different story. Glenn and Rodrigue stand in the doorway and wave him goodbye, alive and well. 

_For how much longer?_ A sudden fear grips his lungs and steals his breath. This might be the last time he sees them alive, the last time they hear his voice. What should he say? What _can_ he say that will prove sufficient for a moment as important as this? How can he find the right words to tell his remaining family that he hasn’t gone a day without questioning why they had to die while he survived, to make them understand the pain still burns brightly in his chest despite his ardent desire not to feel _anything_?

Of course, because the goddess hates Felix in particular, things get even worse before he can get the words.

“Rodrigue! Glenn! Oh, thank the goddess I made it in time to see you off!” His literal nightmare of a king (prince?) says, sweat glistening off his brow, his blonde hair windswept from running through the monastery. Felix looks away, cheeks burning and hoping that the ground will swallow him whole sooner rather than later.

“We would not have left without saying goodbye, Your Highness,” Rodrigue says with an amused smile. 

“I wrote a letter to my father. Would you be so kind as to deliver it to him?” 

“Naturally. I will give him your regards,” his father says politely and bows to Dimitri’s obvious displeasure. “Please, continue watching out for my son. I cannot afford to make many more unplanned trips to Garreg Mach this year. I might not be able to make it to the Battle of the Lion and the Eagle at the end of the month at this rate.” 

Dimitri turns to him and his face brightens like he is looking at the sun itself. 

_‘Disgusting,’_ Felix thinks, and quickly averts his eyes before he gets burned. 

“Of course, although it is truly Felix who has been looking out for me,” Dimitri says, horrendously humble, and it takes all of his strength to stay put and not get up and deck him where he stands.

“As he should,” his father says, and this time Felix cannot suppress making a retching sound, which remains ignored. “If that is all, we need to hit the road before the sun sets. Get well, Felix. I will eagerly await your letters as always.” 

“See ya, squirt,” Glenn adds. “Try not to spend more time in the infirmary than in class, will ya? I want to have at least some resistance the next time I beat you.” 

_“Fuck you,”_ Felix mouths at him, and his brother laughs warmly.

They leave before he can say anything else, leaving him empty and unsettled. Alone, if not for Dimitri.

“Don’t you have class or something better to do?” He grits out, hoping that Dimitri will catch a hint and leave him to sort out his thoughts.

Dimitri glances at him and then immediately looks away. “No, I already finished my final class of the day. My usual sparring partner is still recovering, so I have time to spare.” 

The boar is acting strange. Felix watches him fumble with the side of his cape, sighing deeply. When he approaches his bed, his steps are measured and determined. There is a smile on his lips, not a cruel twist but something else, something he has never seen before on that mouth, least of all directed at him.

It doesn’t make sense, not until Dimitri sits down on the side of his bed, takes his hands and slowly intertwines their fingers. His heart beats in his throat, and Dimitri is entirely too close for comfort.

“Go read a book or something. Stop bothering me,” he says quickly, too quickly, betraying himself. Damn him! Damn him and this entire strange dream world to hell!

Dimitri laughs richly, dangerously in an addictive way that makes Felix choke up for reasons he doesn’t understand. “I have a better idea.”

It’s all the warning he gets. Reality stops making sense when Dimitri moves forward, knees sinking into the mattress, and captures his lips. Dimitri’s lips aren’t soft, they’re hard and demanding, like a drowning man in a desert, and Felix is his oasis to devour. He claws at his shirt, ripping up seams and buttons as he takes and takes. And Felix, despite a decade of trying to unlearn it, was taught to follow his lead. He can’t think, wouldn’t know how to with all of Dimitri pressed against him, warm and hard in ways that Felix had never realized he wanted. Dimitri kisses him like a man possessed, but it’s not his blood he is lusting for. 

Felix is completely and utterly out of his depth. 

Then Dimitri pulls back, smiles wickedly, and nips at his lips with all the subtlety of an elephant. It’s a challenge he wouldn’t know how to answer even if he could think. He gasps loudly and Dimitri gladly uses it to deepen the kiss and devour him again. His hospital gown meets a tragic fate, and it scares Felix how little he cares about the ripped fabric, how easy it is to be moved by fingertips mapping out the skin of his back, burning him alive. Maybe it’s not Dimitri that is possessed, but him. 

Felix’s hands find their way into being balled into the front of Dimitri’s uniform, but he doesn’t push him away as he had intended. He moans and pulls him closer, closer, _closer_ , until their chests are pressed together and he finally—

Something dawns upon him: a memory, a dream, deja vu? All he knows is that suddenly he is fifteen again, the smell of blood and despair in the air, Dimitri’s hands soaked in blood. That part is familiar, but then history diverts. Here too, a beast awakens at the western rebellion, but it is the quiet kind, the one hidden behind closed doors and hushed underneath the sheets. Gentle and careful at first, playful and hungry later. 

He tangles his hands in Dimitri’s hair and gasps freely while his lover’s lips walk wild on his skin. It hits him like thunder on a clear night, suddenly and with devastating clarity. Years of stolen kisses and secret meetings flash before his eyes while his body acts on muscle memory. 

_Oh,_ Felix realizes. _We’re in love._


	2. a non-acceptable alternative

When they pull apart Felix is the one left panting, eyes wide in shock and screaming inside his mind: _What the hell is going on?_

He tries to form the words, but his eyes are drawn to Dimitri’s tongue, teasingly licking his kiss-swollen lips. He looks like he has been mauled, and Felix realizes that oh Goddess help me, that’s exactly what I did, didn’t I? Dimitri smiles confidently, puffy lips and all, in a way that his Dimitri never has.

Felix’s traitorous heart skips several beats. 

With effort, he rips his eyes away only to be captivated by Dimitri’s blue eyes, darkened with…. desire? Fuck. _Abort, abort! This is not better!_

“Wha-” he begins to say, trying to get his thoughts out of the gutter and back in order. “W-what was that for?”

Dimitri laughs deliriously, his breath warm against his lips. “You fool,” he says fondly and kisses him again.

Felix almost melts into it, _almost_. The hazy mess of memories burned into mind and muscles compel him to act, to reply, to savor. They’re accompanied by a decade’s worth of shameful dreams starring Dimitri, rejoicing in their victory at last. His heart is threatening to leap out of his chest, and it scares him how much he wants this to be reality.

But it isn’t, and Felix doesn’t indulge in fantasies. 

“Stop!” He exclaims, and pushes Dimitri away abruptly, every inch of space between them making it easier to think. 

Dimitri jumps away. “Did I hurt you?” He says, concern written all over his face.

To admit to that would be to admit defeat, and Ailell will sooner freeze over than Felix admitting defeat to Dimitri. “Anyone could walk in! Are you out of your mind?” He sputters out instead, his voice coming out far higher than he would like.

Dimitri has the gall to look guilty. “Oh, yes. You’re right. That was quite thoughtless of me. I just….” He trails off, looking at the door as if it is a personal affront to him. “My apologies Felix. You are right, as always.” 

No one has ever said that to him ever and meant it. “Stop it, _boar_ ,” he spits out angrily. He welcomes the fury in his veins. It’s far easier to understand this mess of…. other feelings.

“That’s an interesting pet name, Fe,” Dimitri remarks. “Although I prefer it if you would just call me by my name. Too few people do that, so it might as well be a pet name at this point.” 

Felix sputters indignantly. “T-that’s NOT a pet name!” 

“Then what is it, my dear?” Dimitri says and… is he teasing him? He _is_ , that bastard!

Felix does _not_ resist the urge to launch his pillow at him with all of his might, successfully throwing Dimitri off his bed. 

Dimitri yelps loudly in pain. _Good_ , Felix thinks, his cheeks still burning. _Suffer as much as you made me suffer._

“I see you are recovering well. That was an excellent throw,” Dimitri praises him when he gets back up from the ground, a boyish smile on his face.

“Shut up already!” 

“What is all this commotion about?” Manuela calls out from outside the door. Dimitri had the good sense to close it at least. Small mercies. “I hope you’re not trying to break out again, Felix. Are you decent at least?”

“I’m sorry, it was my fault, Professor! My apologies,” Dimitri apologizes immediately, taking the blame without Felix’s consent. 

“Your Highness! Rodrigue told me you were with Felix. You better not be aiding him in his escape, then,” Manuela chides. 

“Of course not, Professor.” Dimitri laughs guiltily in a way that tells Felix that this has happened at least once or twice in the past. 

She knocks on the door twice before opening it, supposedly giving Felix any chance to cover himself. _Decent,_ she asked. He groans, and mourns the loss of his pillow to hide his face in. His cheeks are still burning and he doesn’t want to know what his lips look like to make them feel so utterly ravaged.

It does not go unnoticed by Manuela, to his mortification. “Are you alright? Is your fever back again?” 

Felix swats her hand away. “I’m fine! It’s just… hot in here.” It sounds lame even to his own ears.

Manuela gives him a strange look, and despite his protests casts a minor diagnosis spell over him. Felix feels the familiar tingling of white magic sweep over him.

“You seem better at least. How are your physical exercises going?” Manuela asks, her bright red lipstick slightly smudged. Felix groans. Couldn’t his father have decided to court some woman he did not need to see on a regular basis?

“ _Fine_.”

“And your headaches? Did you have any more seizures or anything that could be considered the onset of one?” 

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he grits out uncooperatively. “Can I be discharged already?” 

Manuela mutters something under her breath along the lines of ‘teenagers’ and ‘health being wasted on the young’. 

“I can bring him to his room, if that would help?” Dimitri pipes up helpfully.

Felix chokes up. Abort. _Abort_!

“Although some return to normalcy will do him good, I think that might be a bit too soon. Why don’t you two take a stroll around the monastery instead? Lying in bed all day will hardly make your recovery any faster, especially if you intend to participate in the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion at the end of the month.” 

“With all due respect, Professor. I doubt Felix will be strong enough-” Dimitri starts, but Felix cuts him off, anger still hot in his veins at the implication too weak to fight.

“Shut up. I’m going to join, and we’re going to win. You can’t stop me.”

Dimitri frowns. “Theoretically, I can. I am your house leader, after all.” 

“Tough luck, the Professor decides the lineup.” 

“Boys, _please_ ,” Manuela interrupts them before their argument can escalate. “Your professor will not allow you to join unless I give you a clean bill of health,” she reminds him.

Felix growls and Dimitri smiles victoriously.

Manuela massages her forehead with two fingers. “Settle down, Felix. If you keep taking your exercises as seriously as you have until now, I see no reason not to. As long as you don’t try anything to worsen your condition and stick to my exercise schedule, I might discharge you for the end of the next week. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” Felix spits out. 

“Of course,” Manuela echoes fondly and pats his shoulder. “Now before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s get to our daily examination.” 

Felix nods and allows her to do her work. If she sees the marks Dimitri sucked into existence, she doesn’t comment on them.

Dimitri tries his best to look small, to fade into the background, perhaps hoping that Manuela will forget he is there, or hoping to see a glimpse of bare skin.

The thought makes him flush from head to toe all over again, as foreign memories come to him. Apparently this Dimitri has seen far more than a glimpse of his skin, back in his room in Fhirdiad, in shared tents during missions or travels, and even back in his room here at the Academy. But never in the open. 

Felix peeks at Dimitri from the corner of his eyes. He looks healthy and sane in a way that he can barely remember Dimitri ever looked. And he wonders, _if not for the Tragedy, if not for all the corpses and gravestones that stand in between them, would this be what they turned out to be?_ Holding hands underneath the table, stolen kisses in dark corners, stifled cries of pleasure in the dead of the night?

The Goddess and the Goddess alone knows he has dreamed of these things a shameful amount of times. But he has never spoken a word of it, not to Sylvain, not to Ingrid, and least of all to Dimitri. It was just one of those things he would take to the grave. It never occurred to him that perhaps Dimitri could return those feelings he tried so hard to kill. 

His heart sinks. This isn’t real, Felix reminds himself. He’s in a dreamland - a strangely realistic one, but a fantasy all the same - so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that his darkest desires have come to life. A sting of grief stabs him. Grief, for a romance that never was and never will be.

He quells it as quickly as it comes, refuses to feel it. It doesn’t keep him from gazing at Dimitri through his eyelashes. This Dimitri - young and bright, only seventeen - is neither King nor Beast. If his fake memories serve him well, he belongs to Felix and has for the past two years. It is a relationship buried deep in encrypted letters and stolen moments, but it’s more than he ever thought he’d have.

What is this world? Felix wonders, and not for the first time does he vow to find out. It’s too real for a dream, too specific for an illusion, too _perfect_ for reality. None of it makes sense.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Manuela comments when she finishes her examination, drawing Felix out of his thoughts. “You may eat in the dining hall with your friends tonight if you feel up for it.” 

Felix does not need to complicate things further than they already are by seeing strangers wearing familiar faces. “I’m not hungry.” 

“I can bring you something you like,” Dimitri promises him. “We can have dinner up here together. T-that is, if Professor Manuela will allow it of course.” 

“I’m sorry. Visiting hours are over, and I don’t feel like cleaning up the remains of another broken plate. Patients only, those are the rules.” 

“My sincerest apologies once again, Professor. I promise it won’t happen again,” Dimitri says, a hint of red on his cheeks. Felix looks away quickly, his heart beating loud in his chest.

_Damn him!_

* * *

That night Felix sneaks out of the infirmary on principle, without any help (and least of all from Dimitri). It’s frighteningly easy to move past the guards, shifting from shadow to shadow, with none of them any wiser. The only true obstacle comes in the form of Claude and Hilda, who share a drink together on the stairs of his dorm, effectively blocking the only way in. 

He’s teaching her a language Felix has never heard before. His mother taught him Dagdan as a child, so he knows it or anything from that region. He watches them from the shadows for a while, laughing carefree. The last time he saw either of them was at Gronder. They were covered in blood and grime, ready to hurt if not kill him. The contrast could not be starker. 

“Alive again, Felix?” Claude calls out, and Felix curses that he has been caught. “I must say, it’s been awfully quiet with my neighbor in the infirmary. Good to see you back on your own two feet.” 

He contemplates pretending he isn’t here, but when Hilda joins in he knows the chance to remain unnoticed has been reduced to zero. “Come drink with us, Lixie!” She exclaims loudly, her smile wide and her cheeks colored red.

Felix steps into the light, and eyes the bottle she’s holding up to him. He is willing to bet his sword there is alcohol in it.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” he scolds.

Claude laughs boisterously, winking terribly. “Like you’ve never done _that_ before.” 

He has, but not while he was still a minor and only to cope with the worst of the war, at Sylvain’s behest. Never just for the sake of getting drunk. 

Felix scowls. The more he finds out about the person whose memories he inherited, the lower his opinion of him becomes.

“As house leader, I have permission to be out here,” Hilda says, flicking her golden cape back over her shoulder theatrically. “Besides, if anyone catches us we’ll just say it’s cough medicine.” 

Felix blinks. Hilda? House leader of the Golden Deer? He looks at Claude, who wears the exact same outfit as he did while they studied at the academy, although notably short on a yellow cape. He is wearing a strange green headband instead. 

This isn’t real, he reminds himself. Not his problem. “Pass,” he says bluntly.

Claude sighs. “Just sit down for a bit, alright? You look as white as a ghost, and you don’t want to scare Lysithea.” 

“I’m going to bed.” 

Claude wolf-whistles. “Say hi to his Highness for me.” 

Felix grasps for a blade he doesn’t carry. It is probably for the best, or he might be causing an international incident right here, right now. “You can do so yourself. I’m going to sleep,” he says sharply instead. 

“Sure, go off. Be boring, I guess,” Claude drawls out, leaning back against the stairs in a way that can’t be comfortable. “If you’re ready to wield a sword again, I am cashing that raincheck, though. It’s been too long since I fought anyone who could wield a _shamshir_ , or have you already forgotten everything I taught you last summer?” 

Felix has no idea what he is talking about. “Of course I remember. Name a time and a place, and I’ll be there.” After he has done some research, that is. “Or do you want to fight it out during the battle of the Eagle and the Lion?”

“Ha! as if you would be able to get close to me!” Claude exclaims cockily, and as much as Felix hates it, he is probably right. He’s not bad with a bow, but Claude’s marksmanship outclasses him any day and his wyvern takes him to places Felix’s sword can’t reach him.

But he’ll die before admitting that. “We’ll see, Riegan.” 

“For the last time, it’s _al Almyra_. Just because you can’t pronounce my name properly doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Claude says petulantly.

Felix does a double-take. Al Almyra? He looks at Claude again, this time allowing foreign memories to come to mind. He went to Almyra once, as his brother’s squire. Met a Prince, a sneaky boy with a good sword-arm and an even better aim. A talent to get into trouble, and a mind to get out of it. In Felix’s world, they never exchanged more than a few pleasantries. But here, Claude and him were unlikely friends. 

An Almyran prince. He should have at least guessed his heritage, considering the border with the Alliance and Claude’s ever prevailing need for smoke and mirrors. But the truth is that he never really paid much thought to the other house leader, too focused on- 

He cuts himself off before he falls back into that rabbit hole. How much else is different?

“Are you alright, Felix?” Claude - or Khalid? - calls out.

 _No_ , Felix thinks. “I’m fine,” he grits out instead. When Hilda stifles a disbelieving laugh in her hand, he reluctantly adds: “Just... Tired.” 

Why is he even here? Whatever friendship existed between them in this dream world, Felix has no part in it, nor does he want to. He pushes past them resolutely, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridor.

“Rest well, Fe-fe!” Hilda calls after him, teasingly. Felix is this close to turning around and challenging her into a duel until she has enough sense to never call him that again. “Next time, we’ll drink to your health!” 

When he finally gets to his room, it is only the thought of Dimitri sleeping in the next room that keeps him from slamming the door shut. He’s breathing hard, his lungs burning from the mere exercise of walking from the infirmary to his room. Perhaps Manuela wasn’t entirely wrong when she said he wasn’t ready to go out yet on his own, but he made it here. It relieves him to see his favorite brand of sword polish and a toothed dagger he thought he lost years ago lying among the clutter on his desk. Dream or not, at least this place is still his and his alone, if only for the rest of the year.

He locks the door for good measure, and falls down on the bed, inhales the comfort of freshly laundered sheets without the sting of antiseptic accompanying it. It smells slightly different than what he is used to, but creature comforts like these are the least of the things he misses from peacetime. He closes his eyes, and wonders if he will wake up in this bed.

-

-

-

> Felix dreams of Dimitri. It isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last, but this is nothing like the dreams that plagued his adolescence or the strange dreamland he has been inhabiting for the past week.
> 
> He’s outside in the courtyard of Castle Fhirdiad again, if memory serves him correctly. It’s a little chilly and the deep fog makes it hard to see. It doesn’t seem to matter, because his feet move towards their destination without any hindrance. As much as Felix hates it, Dimitri has always been like gravity to him. Like his own personal North Star, every compass keeps leading him towards him, no matter how much he tries not to. It’s only recently that he is starting to accept that destiny as his own, pledging to take his father’s role at Dimitri’s side. 
> 
> Dimitri - the older, scarred King, not the young prince who keeps touching him so familiarly - turns to him, smiling softly. “You shouldn’t be up,” he says.
> 
> “Neither should you,” he hears himself say petulantly, the words coming out far softer than he ever would. It is this kind of dream again, the ones he had while he was barely cognizant. Like he is watching his life play out through his own eyes, without any control of his own actions. If he wasn’t feeling so detached, he would be scared out of his mind.
> 
> Dimitri’s one remaining eye crinkles up slightly, “You are probably right. But sleep often eludes me, and taking a walk makes it easier to deal with my--” He abruptly stops himself, before turning his gaze back to his Kingdom. “My apologies, Felix, I know you do not wish to hear me speak of those who haunt me. I will trouble you no more.”
> 
> Felix, or perhaps more accurately, the ghost of him that is in control of his body, stomps his foot childishly on the ground. “What are you talking about? You can tell me anything!” He demands, his voice cracking with desperation. “You always do!”
> 
> Dimitri sighs wistfully. “You’re confused.”
> 
> “You’re damn right I am!” He yells loudly, grabbing Dimitri by his lapels. “Dima, please, stop avoiding me. What happened?”
> 
> “Your memory seems to be altered, or at least incomplete or corrupted. But you say some memories have returned to you, am I correct?”
> 
> “What I saw aren’t memories. They’re nightmares! The Monastery in flames! You, ripping apart men and women alike as if they are paper dolls! Father dead at my feet!” Felix hears his own voice rising and rising to an increasingly desperate pitch, and Dimitri looks progressively more guilty in a way that makes Felix want to punch it off his face. “If this is real, if this is the world we live in, then… then…. then I’d rather be dead!”
> 
> “Don’t,” Dimitri cuts him off, his voice low and demanding. “Please do not speak those words. Not even in jest. To lose you too...” Felix watches him swallow deeply, the bob of his Adam's apple up and down. 
> 
> He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to hear Dimitri explain the worst moments of his life to this shadow of himself in a dream. It’s mortifying, but he is like a prisoner in his own body, unable to even close his eyes.
> 
> The other Felix shakes Dimitri like a rag doll. “Then explain it to me!”
> 
> “Sadly, the world has been a nightmare for a long time now,” Dimitri says solemnly. “At least, to me it has been.” Did Dimitri always sound so broken? No, he can’t waste these thoughts on him now. A man that can rip apart fifteen soldiers without breaking a sweat should not be pitied, Felix thinks to himself forcefully, but the feeling does not go away.
> 
> “What happened, Dima?” The other him demands. “Sylvain and Ingrid told me Glenn was dead, His Majesty too. Duscur is gone and the Empire has declared war on the church, and you…,” he trails off, before letting his forehead lean against Dimitri’s chest like he would when they were both children and Glenn made him cry again. Only this time Dimitri is a head taller and his plate armor feels cold against Felix’s skin. Perhaps he is merely burning up from fever. This sure feels like a fever dream. 
> 
> “Felix,” Dimitri whispers with evident disbelief in his tone, one hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.
> 
> “What they didn’t tell me, couldn’t explain to me… was you. Us.”
> 
> He feels rather than hears Dimitri sigh. “My apologies, Felix. I keep disappointing you, it seems.”
> 
> “Don’t apologize! It’s annoying!” Not-Felix slams his fist against Dimitri’s armored chest, but it gives him none of the satisfaction he had hoped it would. “What happened? Why won’t you look at me?”
> 
> “You haven’t looked at me in a very long time, Felix.”
> 
> _He isn’t entirely right,_ Felix thinks, _but Dimitri isn’t wrong either._ He just never looked at Dimitri when he was looking back. 
> 
> But his counterpart does not know that. “Why?”
> 
> “Why?” Dimitri lets out a dry, bitter laugh. “Because perhaps you’ve always known me too well to be fooled by what I wanted people to see. You’ve always been able to see the worst of me, and my sins stretch far beyond this horizon.”
> 
> That’s not all of it, Felix would scream at him if he was in control of his own body. But this is just a nightmare, quickly derailing into territory he never wants to talk about, ever.
> 
> “And you let me go? Didn’t we promise never to let go of each other?” He hears himself ask.
> 
> Dimitri shares his confusion. “I… do not remember such a promise?”
> 
> He feels his own eyes widen, his breath hitch up in his chest. “At the rebellion,” Felix stammers, pushing himself away from Dmitri to be able to look him in the eyes. His climbing despair is so strong that it echoes straight into Felix’s own chest. “You…. you’re telling me.... you don’t _remember_?”
> 
> “I have no memories of such a promise,” Dimitri apologizes, confused and a little lost. “My apologies.”
> 
> Felix should have known what would come next, but it still surprises him. He feels despair and determination pool in his gut in equal measures, and when his hands grasp Dimitri’s cheeks he feels the slight stubble underneath as if the fingers were his own. His eyes stare deeply into Dimitri’s remaining one, searching for something Dimitri cannot give him.
> 
> Then not-Felix mercifully closes his eyes at last, stands on the tips of his toes, and leans in. Dimitri’s lips feel cold and unmoving against his own, like kissing a corpse. It’s a soft, chaste press, nothing like what the younger, perfect Dimitri did to him earlier today, and yet. It’s desperate on its own accord. He feels himself cling to Dimitri, willing him to move along, but Dimitri is still as a statue. When they break apart after a few seconds, Dimitri’s lips are slightly parted, and his one eye wide in shock.
> 
> If Felix could scream, he would have. Instead, the other him releases Dimitri in one big shove, muttering a string of curses under his breath. 
> 
> “W-what… what did y-you just….?” Dimitri stammers, his fingers ghosting to his lips. He looks at least as lost as Felix feels, which is not a situation he ever expected himself to be in.
> 
> He feels his own throat clog up with tears. “This is the most wretched nightmare then, if everything I love is dead and gone,” he hears himself say hoarsely, one tear after another falls down into the cold hard stone beneath them. He takes a step backward, shaking his head as tears continue to roll down his cheeks.
> 
> “Felix!” Dimitri cries out, his movements sluggish from shock. 
> 
> But his other self just keeps walking backward until he hits a wall. He turns around and sprints in the opposite direction, faster and faster, until his atrophied muscles are screaming at him to stop.
> 
> “Felix! Don’t run off! You can’t just-”
> 
> But Felix doesn’t hear what Dimitri is saying about what he can and cannot do. His body carries him into the mists of the early dawn, and with every step, he rushes away from Dimitri, his mind starting to slip away from this terrible, terrible dream.
> 
> Because it _has_ to be a dream. The alternative is not acceptable. 

-

-

-

When Felix wakes up, the tears are still streaming down his face. He presses a hand over his mouth to keep the noise inside. It’s early in the morning, too early for anyone to be up. The tears keep coming and coming, his breath hitching in his chest, but he refuses to let them out, to make a sound. His heart is breaking but it’s not his own that’s mourning the clear rejection on Dimitri’s face. He never offered Dimitri anything like that, and knows better than to stick his neck out like that, to hope for something that he knows will never be returned. 

He clutches his hand into his shirt, right above his heart. Knowing that doesn’t make it hurt less. The last time it hurt like this-- 

_No_ , he doesn’t want to think of that. He doesn’t want to think about this at all, so he doesn’t. Goes through his morning routine, every muscle screaming. He welcomes the pain in all its familiarity. If war has taught him one thing, then it is how to move forward without breaking.

Manuela does not agree when she finds him halfway through his routine. She all but breaks down his door. 

“Do you have no respect for your own body? You nearly died, Felix!” she yells from the top of her lungs, gesturing madly. Felix figures that if she didn’t believe him to be as sick as she does, she would already have kicked him. “Do you want to die!?!” 

“Hmpf. I know my limits,” Felix says. The truth is that his head is swimming and he feels ready to keel over, but he pushes past it. Once, when he was 20 and Fraldarius was under attack by Imperial soldiers, he and his father fought with their backs against the wall from dawn till dusk, until backup from Gautier finally arrived. He remembers passing out in Sylvain’s arms and sleeping for two days straight afterward. This exhaustion is nothing compared to how he felt waking up after _that_ , and he doesn’t even have to dig ditches to bury the bodies of the fallen soldiers today.

But Manuela does not know that. 

“Obviously you don’t know your limits!” she scolds him fiercely. “You think you can just keep going and going, without any repercussions? You look like you’re about to fall apart! What do you think your father will say when he hears about this?”

“Go ahead and ask him.” Frankly, Felix couldn’t care less about what his old man thinks, but thinks it wise not to say that in front of his girlfriend. _Ugh_ , just thinking about it makes him want to retch.

Manuela fumes at his dismissive reply. “I most certainly will! And along with that, I will talk to your Professor to remind him that you are _not_ cleared for battle next week, since you obviously can’t be trusted with your own health!” 

Felix’s eyes widen. “I can fight!” He doesn’t know what is more humiliating: the fact that Manuela thinks he is weak, or the fact that she’s screaming it in his door-opening, within earshot of a steadily growing crowd of his fellow students.

“And you can die! Youth! Thinking they are immortal…” Manuela trails off, before shaking her head and resuming her tirade. “If you want to see a single battlefield again for as long as you’re under my care, you’d better start listening to me!” 

Felix growls at her, his eyes narrowed and anger burning in his blood. He’s never missed a fight before, not during his time at the academy or after their class reunion. It’s the only thing he is really good at, the only moment he can truly feel at peace, when he is facing an opponent of near-equal strength with a sword in his hand.

Dimitri - _damn him!_ \- steps in before Felix can decide between storming off and lopping Manuela’s head off.

“Please, Professor Casagranda. I doubt this excitement is good for Felix’s health. I will ensure he eats a decent meal, and that Felix follows your recovery schedule down to the letter.” 

Manuela rolls her eyes. “That will not make me change my mind about allowing him to join the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, Your Highness.” 

“I would never presume such a thing. I swear upon my honor, I only have his best interest in mind,” Dimitri says, grasping Felix’s hand and squeezing lightly. 

Felix almost retches on the spot. Why does Dimitri have to act so proper, when Felix knows exactly what he is really capable of? _Disgusting_. 

“Felix probably just felt like he needed some time in his own bed,” Dimitri continues, unaware of Felix’s internal thoughts. 

He quickly pulls his hand back from Dimitri’s. “You don’t speak for me!” He hisses furiously.

“Well then, speak for yourself, you foolish boy!” Manuela hollers with the hint of a smirk on her face. 

Felix looks around and sees most of their class have gathered. He looks down. He’s still wearing his night clothing, ill-fitted due to the amount of weight and body mass he has recently lost, wasting away in that infirmary bed.

Hot shame rises to his cheeks. “Fine!” He sputters out. “J-just tell me what to do, woman, and I’ll surpass all your expectations.” 

“Teenagers! I can’t deal with this, this early in the morning,” Manuela mutters, rubbing her temples. “Go. Have breakfast. Then come to my office, and we’ll decide upon an exercise routine that fits your _temperament_ ,” she says the last word like it is an insult. 

“Thank you for your care,” Dimitri says, puts his hand on Felix’s back, and pushes down until they’re both bowing respectfully. Felix growls and shrugs Dimitri’s hand off as soon as he lets down the pressure.

Manuela huffs but relents. When she finally leaves, half the students that reside on the upper floor are staring at him. Claude’s smirk is taunting, and if Felix thought he was strong enough to win, he would challenge him to a duel right here and now. But as much as he hates it, his knees are weak and his hands are trembling. Manuela isn’t entirely wrong, despite being an absolute nuisance.

“What?” He snarls at them. It sends most of them back on their way now that the spectacle is gone. There will be rumors later, but Felix doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his reputation. This isn’t real anyway, he reminds himself.

The only person who doesn’t leave is Dimitri, of course. Felix’s eyes keep finding their way back to his lips, the way they curl up, and all the recent and borrowed memories that brings along.

“Let’s get dressed,” Dimitri suggests, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“I can do that without you,” Felix snaps at him, storms into his room, and throws the door shut into Dimitri’s face for good measure. 

He hears Dimitri’s laugh through the other side of the door. “Do hurry up! We don’t want them to run out of Gautier cheese before we get there.” 

Just to spite him, Felix takes all the time in the world to get dressed.

* * *

Manuela makes good on her threats. The angry letter from his father means little to him, but the one Glenn sends along is a steady mix between disapproval and teasing that brings back the child in him that always hungered for his brother’s praise. It’s harder to kill than he would like to admit, so instead he busies himself with following the training schedule set out by Manuela. True to his word, Dimitri escorts him back and forth to the infirmary every time, and Felix never misses an appointment.

His days fade into each other at an alarming pace. Felix feels detached but in a comfortable way. He does his exercises under Manuela’s careful supervision, more often than not with the help of Dimitri. The rare moments he is finally left to his own devices, Felix avoids him in favor of combing through the library, searching for answers. Everything he learns gives him one answer and three new questions. It’s not so much what he reads in the records, it’s what he doesn’t find. Adrestian history and statecraft barely interest him, but even he knows of the Insurrection of the Seven and subsequent fall from grace the Emperor made. Yet if he is to believe these books, it never happened at all, and the Emperor of Adrestia is a public figure who holds his country in an iron grip. He finds a few faintly concerned accounts written by church officials about the way he seems to pull more and more power to himself.

 _Well,_ Felix thinks, at least now he knows from who Edelgard inherited her autocratic views. What _does_ surprise him is that he finds out that _apparently_ Edelgard is not the heir of the Empire, but instead just one of eleven imperial princes and princesses. He hasn’t seen her around yet, but perhaps he should search for her and end her life, just in case. There seems to be no threat of war on the horizon in this dream world, but Felix is not a betting man. 

But that is for later. He still feels like a shadow of himself, all skin and bones. The world around him doesn’t make any sense, but his blade remains the same. It’s a comfort he clings to, and his and Manuela’s efforts slowly bear fruit. The pace is infuriating him, and his efforts to prove to her he isn’t weak before the Battle of the Eagle and Lion are going poorly. 

His physical recovery is slow and steady, but the rest is more akin to shock therapy than anything else. One otherwise uneventful afternoon during his walk back from the infirmary to this room, he accidentally runs into Miklan. He nearly stabs him right then and there. 

Sylvain’s older brother - disgraced, disinherited, and most importantly, _dead_ \- is wearing the armor of a knight of Seiros, chatting with Alois of all people. 

“What do you want, brat?” Miklan demands, prickly when Felix doesn’t stop staring. The scar on his face is gone, too. Or rather, it never was there at all.

Felix shakes his head, too frozen in place to think of anything that won’t give him away. 

Alois comes between the two of them before Felix does something drastic. “Come on, Miklan! Don’t be disrespectful to the students!” He says jovially and helps Felix back on his feet.

“ _Right_ ,” Miklan mutters and rolls his eyes. He looks awkward, rather than the aggressive and cruel man Felix remembers. “Apologies. Watch where you’re going next time,” he says before marching off.

“Baby steps,” Alois says to Felix with a wink, and then hurries after Miklan.

It’s not the first encounter he has had with a dead man in the past month, and every time he comes across a walking corpse, he doubts himself a little more. Is this really a dream? In a perfect dream world, a utopia of his own making, Miklan would have never existed at all, and Sylvain wouldn’t bear the scars he does. He doesn’t know the full extent of what went on within the walls of Gautier Castle, but he was there when Sylvain took down his brother, and perhaps more importantly, sat with him through the nights that followed. 

Felix mentally counts the months. The Battle of the Eagle and the Lion was months after the battle in the tower of Black Winds. Although Miklan still seems like a pompous asshole, at least he’s a _living_ asshole when he should be long dead. 

It doesn’t make any sense, and Felix really should stop expecting things to do so. Some days he can just shrug it off and go on with his life. But this is Sylvain, and as much as Felix would like to be without any ties to hold him down, it’s _Sylvain_. 

It’s harder than it should be to find Sylvain, because he isn’t at his usual haunts. It occurs to Felix that he hasn’t seen Sylvain more than once since he woke up, and he hasn’t really bothered him like usual. Odd. 

He mulls it over while he quickly walks through the corridors of the monastery, scouring every corner for a shock of red hair and a salacious grin. They were close before Duscur, right? Maybe not as close as afterward, and especially not after fighting a war together. Gautier, Fraldarius, and Galatea are bordering territories. They formed the core of the resistance against Cornelia’s Dukedom, and more often than not, Felix, Ingrid and Sylvain had ended up fighting together. Whenever any of them would get hurt, the others would stay by their side. It happened more often than he would like. Sylvain’s nigh suicidal fighting style meant that there had been plenty of close calls. Perhaps more than anyone else, Ingrid and Sylvain had become siblings-in-arms to him, a bond forged in blood and steel.

 _Oh,_ Felix realizes with sudden clarity. Glenn is alive, and Dimitri is… whatever Dimitri is to him. Sylvain always found ways to insert himself into existing spaces, pleased to fill gaps. 

He curses himself and starts running through the corridors, Manuela’s instructions be damned. He doesn’t want to become like his father or like Dedue: dedicated to one person alone. Not even if it’s someone he— 

He cuts off that dangerous train of thought. Maybe it’s for the better. One less person to bother him. This is what he wanted, he told Seteth many times. 

_But,_ Felix thinks. It won’t hurt to test his power level against a skilled fighter like Sylvain. He gives up the search after a fruitless hour of running around searching for him, and instead leaves a small note on Sylvain’s desk inviting - well, demanding - a spar, and leaves it at that.

* * *

It takes days before Sylvain finally takes him up on his offer to spar, and only after a significant amount of pestering from his side. Tomorrow they’re leaving to fight the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and the thought of returning to the place where so many of his former classmates and his father met their violent ends has Felix feeling an unhealthy mix of anger and anxiety. Sparring has always been his preferred way to deal with such emotions. 

As soon as they’re alone in the training yard, Felix pushes a lance into Sylvain’s hands. 

“Wow, eager to get back into shape, aren’t you?” Sylvain jokes, but gets ready anyway.

They bow once before engaging in battle, like they were taught as boys. Some things never change.

It’s his first spar since the incident that left him bedridden, and Manuela will probably skin him alive for this, but Felix finds it hard to care at this moment, his blood singing with excitement in his veins. 

It’s different, facing a living opponent instead of the armies conjured from his memories. Sylvain is not nearly as good as the Sylvain Felix remembers, but he himself is rusty and weakened by bed rest. Sylvain’s moves are predictable, but he has a superior range due to his height and weapon. In the end, they’re fairly evenly matched. It’s a challenge, although one that frustrates him more than satisfies him.

“What’s bothering you?” Sylvain asks, right before he nearly hits Felix with a mean uppercut.

Well, if they’re going to play dirty, Felix is not above using underhanded tactics. “What is your brother doing here?” 

_How is he not dead,_ Felix does not say, but it’s close.

Sylvain looks at him oddly. “Didn’t you know he became a knight of Seiros after Dad kicked him out?” He asks, and makes a very obvious feint to the left that Felix hasn’t fallen for since he was sixteen. “Rhea took him in at the King’s behest, although that’s supposed to be a secret.”

There’s a story there, but Felix doesn’t remember much about Dimitri’s father. He was his King first, and his father’s friend second and an awkward uncle figure finally, always kind, but always busy. He vaguely remembers that Lambert himself was a second son, favored over the elder because of his crest.

He takes a good look at Sylvain, the determined set of his brow versus the easy smile on his face. The way he parries strikes without flinching, something Sylvain only learned to do after the war started and fighting was all they did anymore.

Well, only one way to find out. The crest of Fraldarius lights up in the sky as he strikes Sylvain’s leg with his sword.

“Unfair! You’re not supposed to use your crest!” Sylvain cries out, but he doesn’t look resentful. 

It tells Felix all he needs to know. “Too bad. You should train to use every advantage you have, or you’ll die in battle.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes. “Ugh, thanks for the lecture, _Mom_ ,” he says, and then throws his lance at Felix, who fishes it out of the air without thinking, instinct ingrained by years of battle. “Fine, you win. I’m taking a bath.”

“We’re not finished, Sylvain!” Felix bellows on the top of his lungs. “Come back and face me, you coward!”

Sylvain lazily flips him the bird and scrambles off laughing, not a care in the world.

Felix curses his name and all he stands for, but before he can run off after him, he hears a familiar voice behind him. 

“It seems you’re missing a sparring partner.” 

He turns around quickly and finds Byleth staring back at him. Well, it’s her, but at the same time, not quite. He should really be getting used to this. Her green hair and eyes are replaced by the blue he remembers from their early days at the academy, and her rather revealing outfit is replaced by one that reminds him vaguely of what her father used to wear.

She’s dressed like the captain of the knights of Seiros, he realizes. Like her father before her.

Byleth picks up a sword from the rack and swings it a few times, testing the weight. “Do you mind if I take his place?”

“Not at all,” Felix says, his mouth watering but posture ready to strike. “Prepare yourself.”

As soon as they bow, the battle begins, and it’s a world of difference. Her appearance isn’t the only thing that seems to have been altered. Byleth moves like the wind, ungraspable and unstoppable, her eyes never leaving his, yet seeing every blow coming. If he hadn’t spent the last ten years perfecting the art of the sword day and night, he would have lost within seconds. 

They trade blow by blow, scouting each other’s movements. His blood rushes through his veins and he feels high on adrenaline. She’s better than ever before, refined like a blade made by a master blacksmith.

When she floors him within two minutes, he isn’t even mad. In fact, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Round two!” He demands, already back on his feet. The bruises he undoubtedly collected feel like trophies.

Byleth shakes her head. “My apologies. Lady Rhea expects me,” she says, sounding vaguely apologetic. “You have improved greatly since the last time we fought, Felix.”

 _So have you,_ Felix thinks. “You’re a worthy opponent,” he says instead and scrambles back to his feet. “Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

“Perhaps,” She replies neutrally, before bowing politely, signaling the end of their spar. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy, considering you are still recovering?” 

“Who told you that?” Did Glenn talk to her too, or was it Professor Casagranda? Why are people so keen on gossiping about him? Damn them!

Byleth shakes her head. “You very nearly died, Felix. My father was quite worried about you, not to mention Dimitri.” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” he grits out. A little winded, but in a good way.

“If you say so,” she says neutrally, and she’s gone before he knows it. 

Out of pure spite Felix keeps training until he can barely see straight. He stops a few times in the middle of his katas, feeling like he’s being watched, but he can never quite pinpoint where it comes from and writes it off as war-induced paranoia. The feeling of being at peace still hasn’t settled in his bones, and he sleeps uneasily.

-

-

-

> He dreams of the streets of Fhirdiad that night, of looking up at the castle from the crowded streets. A shadow of a man with a blonde mop of hair stares back. He turns away, feeling his gaze burn into his back, and he has never felt further away from home.

-

-

-

The march towards Grondor feels unreal. The last time, technically five years in the future, yet to Felix barely a month ago, it had felt like the end of the world. Dimitri, while no longer raving mad, had led what anyone knew to be a suicide mission. When they left the monastery, Felix and Ingrid had looked at each other, knowing that there was a good chance neither of them would return. And if they did, then it would be at a steep cost. 

They hadn’t been wrong about that. What followed was carnage. Fragments of the recent past or distant future assault him. The scent of fresh corpses, Bernadetta’s screams while she burned alive, Hubert’s ominous laughter in the distance. His father’s body, still warm when he wrenched it from Dimitri’s arms. Dimitri, bawling like a child, offering apologies.

He stows the memories away. It had been a nightmare from start to finish. But this time? His classmates are eagerly chatting amongst each other, regardless of their house. He spots an unfamiliar face, some guy named Emile that Felix vaguely recognizes, who apparently has taken Mercedes’ place in the Blue Lions house. Ingrid and Bernadetta ride in front of him, side-by-side, chatting eagerly, unaware that in another time they fought each other till the death on this very field. 

He scoffs, and instead focuses his gaze forward, half-heartedly answering every time Ashe interrupts his monologue about some knightly tale of valor or another (ugh) to ask about Felix’s opinion. Apparently they sometimes read books together in this dream. Why he would ever waste his time on such things is beyond Felix, but at least Ashe doesn’t seem to mind carrying the conversation all on his own. It’s…. not terrible. Certainly better than the alternative.

Speaking of the alternative, he can feel Dimitri’s eyes burn holes into his back. He’s riding with Dedue, who seems to be struggling with his horse. It’s a blessing in disguise because Dedue requires Dimitri’s constant help to keep up the pace, which means he’s too busy to talk to Felix.

When they finally arrive, there is a larger crowd gathered on the outskirts of Grondor Field than he remembers. He sees the banners of Faerghus wave in the distance, next to the Imperial and Alliance banners. His father waves at them when they pass, but he pretends he doesn’t see him.

In the end Manuela didn’t allow him to join the battle. Instead Felix is banished to the sidelines of the actual battle with Rhea’s retinue, casting a healing spell every now and then when someone gets within his pitiful range. 

The battle is a joke. Felix can sometimes hardly remember his peaceful academy days, but he’s fairly certain his class wasn’t this bad back in the day. Dimitri does a decent job of keeping them organized, but without Byleth by his side, he is taking a lot more losses. They’re only mild injuries now, but if war is on the horizon, this battle doesn’t spell much good for the fate of the Kingdom. 

_Damn it all to hell_ , he curses under his breath. He should be out there! He could have easily cut through Hilda’s barrage and taken down Claude (Khalid?) before he started raining arrows on Ingrid! He could have secured a passage to the central plateau for Ashe, instead of allowing Bernadetta to bombard them left and right! His hands are itching for a sword, and more than once he jumps up, ready to leap into the fray and show these amateurs how it’s done!

What stops him isn’t Manuela’s disapproving glare, which honestly only encourages him these days. It’s Flayn, practically attached to his side and with a tenacity he doesn’t quite remember, intending to make him play some kind of fruit game with her. She’s very adept at guilt-tripping too and has a Rescue spell at her disposal as a last resort. 

It’s far more effective than it has any right to be. Felix is forced to sit on his laurels and watch Dimitri clumsily play the other two houses out against each other, until he and Edelgard are all that remain. It’s the first time he spots her, and if it wasn’t for her familiar red uniform, he wouldn’t have recognized her. He wonders why she would bother dyeing her hair, but not for long. 

  
When Dimitri engages Edelgard, Felix holds his breath. Remembers the beast, the boar, roaring for Edelgard’s head, demanding her blood at any cost. Waits for the monster to emerge from this young man too.

It never happens. He is too far removed to hear what they say to each other, but he can read martial combat as if it was his mother tongue. There is no hatred in their movements, no unhinged desire to slaughter or willingness to crush everything for the sake of this victory. It’s… friendly, for the lack of better a word.

Felix considers getting his eyes checked because if he didn’t already think this can’t be real, he knows it for certain now. They’re smiling! Toying with each other! In what reality does that make any sense? 

Dimitri carries the Blue Lion house to victory before Felix can rip out his own hair, but only because Dedue assists him when Edelgard least expects it. For a man so large, he is surprisingly stealthy. 

Felix vaguely hears Rhea announce the Blue Lions as the victors, but he doesn’t pay any attention to the rest of her speech. Instead he watches Dimitri like a hawk, analyzing every move he makes to pull Edelgard back to her feet. Watches them bow quickly to each other, like nobles in the Kingdom are taught to do before and after a friendly spar, out of respect for their opponent. 

He remembers the Dimitri of another life tearing through two battalions in an attempt to crush Edelgard’s skull with his own two hands. Blinks. Sees them walk back towards the Archbishop together, a proud smile on Dimitri’s face. 

He averts his eyes and closes his gaping mouth. His hands are trembling and dumbfounded, he offers no protest when Flayn guides him to the healer’s tent. He sits down. Heals a bad bruise on Bernadetta’s arm from when Sylvain had knocked her off her ballista, without blinking even once. 

That’s how Glenn finds him. “Didn’t know you were aspiring to a church career, little brother.”

“Why are you here?” Felix asks, forgoing pleasantries as usual.

“King Lambert wished to see His Highness fight. I’m just doing my job, unlike _someone_ here,” Glenn says pointedly.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Bernadetta decides that suffering from a half-healed bruise is better than listening to him arguing with his brother. She squeaks out a “Thank you” before quickly running out of the healer’s tent. 

For a moment, Felix considers following her. 

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Glenn plops down ungracefully on the healer’s bench. “How did you manage to piss Manuela off enough to keep you from fighting for an entire month within 24 hours of us leaving? You owe me for all the effort it took to dissuade Dad from turning around and hauling your ass back to Fraldarius himself.” 

“Hmpf, I would like to see him _try_.” 

Glenn raises a single brown, unimpressed. “You look like shit, Felix. He’s the Shield of Faerghus. He wouldn’t even break a sweat.” 

“Fight me and find out how weak I am, if you’re not too much of a _coward_.” Felix hisses back.

“Sure, I don’t mind beating your ass into the ground, as soon as you no longer look like a ghost.” His brother says like he is the one suffering here, like he isn’t the specter set to haunt Felix! “You look better than last time, at least,” Glenn says off-handedly, and ruffles a hand through Felix’s hair, half undoing his bun.

“Cut it out!” Felix swats his hand away. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with his long-dead brother, especially not when he seems hell-bent on teasing him. “Go back to your King and leave me in peace already.” 

“That’s why I came in the first place. We’re having a small victory dinner before you lot return to the academy. ‘Uncle Bert’ insists on ensuring you’re alright.” 

Felix cringes at the old nickname for the king. Like Dimitri, King Lambert could rarely get anyone to call him by his first name. Unlike the boar he had long given up and instead made it his mission to make people call him by his nickname instead. As a child he had loved to be lifted effortlessly on the King’s shoulders, along with the rest of his childhood friends. But the child he had been is dead, and instead, Felix is something between 17 and 23 now. Lambert has been dead for nearly a decade. To hear Glenn actually utter the ridiculous nickname would have been the weirdest thing he had the misfortune of living through today, if not for what had happened at the climax of the Battle of the Lion and the Eagle. 

Glenn hops off the bench. “Well, are you coming? Or do I have to drag you by your hair? Why _do_ you keep it that long, I wonder…” 

“Pass,” Felix scoffs, fixes his bun and vows to keep growing it out just to annoy Glenn.

His brother shakes his head, a sarcastic smile on his face. “No can do. The King literally ordered me to, and I am honor-bound to obey. So get that frown off your face and follow me to the tent, or I will ask Dimitri to carry you.” 

Felix pales at the thought and curses Glenn. His brother always knew how to play him like a fiddle. “Fine!” He says, all but ripping off the apron he used to keep the blood off his clothing, and follows Glenn. 

His brother teases him all the way to the tent of the Royal Family, but he pays little attention to him. Instead, his gaze is fixed on Glenn’s armor, shining and pristine. A veritable white knight straight out of a storybook.

He remembers the last time he saw that armor, blackened by dark soot and even darker magic. It was all that returned of his brother. Instinctively, his hand shoots to his left pocket, feeling for the black spur he carries with him always like a lucky charm. It isn’t there, of course. It’s securely attached to Glenn’s boot, who is walking right next to him. _Alive_. He still can’t believe it.

Was it all a dream, then? A horrible, decade long nightmare? Felix feels the sun shine on his skin, the wind in his hair. It all feels so real, far too real for a dream. He turns his gaze back to Glenn, taller and more sarcastic than people tended to remember him, but alive. Drawing breath as it is the most natural thing in the world, and Felix supposes it is. 

It’s a scary thought, but deep inside, he knows that even if this is a dream, he doesn’t really want to wake up. 

The royal tent is Blaiddyd blue, so eerily similar to the cape the Dimitri he remembers wears that it immediately shocks Felix back into reality. It’s lavishly decorated from the outside, but at least as equally well guarded by men and women wearing uniforms similar to that of Glenn. The guards bow to his brother when they approach, and allow them entrance without question. 

“Took you two long enough!” A deep male voice calls out, and it takes Felix a few seconds to realize that it belongs to Dimitri’s father, the late King Lambert. He had almost forgotten what he sounded like. “Come and celebrate Dimitri’s victory!” 

“Seems like you lost the bet as I said you would, Your Majesty,” Glenn says teasingly, bowing shortly before sitting down.

Felix doesn’t say anything. Instead he looks around to see a room full of ghosts, all sitting on pillows, having what seems like a celebratory picnic. His father is sitting at the King’s right hand, as is tradition, but to his left sits a slightly greying woman whom he barely recognizes. Lambert’s second wife, probably. She’s eerily familiar in a way he can’t quite pinpoint.

He nearly pulls the blade hidden up his sleeve when he feels a familiar hand pulls him down to the ground. 

“Come sit with me, Felix. I missed you out there today,” Dimitri says, and won’t relent until Felix gives in and sits down next to him. His smile is radiant, hopeful, and it steals Felix’s breath away until he feels like a fish on the dry. Dimitri’s hand rests on Felix’s a second too long, their thighs pressing together a bit too intimately. 

“Don’t pity me. You won without me, so you obviously didn’t need me,” Felix grits out, his fist balled in his tunic.

Glenn rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, but Dimitri looks just a little crestfallen. “Still, it would have been better if you had been there with me. It was mere luck that I managed to best El long enough for Dedue to come to my aid.” 

_El?_ Felix blinks sheepishly, dread creeping up in his veins.

Before he can say anything, a voice he has heard below orders from the other side of the battlefield a thousand times comes up from behind him, and this time Felix has a thunder spell on his lips before he can even think. 

He turns around, ready to strike the Emperor down before she puts a knife in his back, in _Dimitri’s_ back- 

And instead sees a slightly annoyed girl standing there, with brown hair and lavender eyes. “You should be happy I took pity on you, little brother,” Not-Edelgard says half-teasing, half-bitter. “We’ll see who wins the individual competition at the end of the year. I won’t go easy on you then.” 

He doesn’t realize she is talking to Dimitri - her little _brother_? - until he pulls her into a hug and ruffles up her hair like-

Like Glenn would do to him when they were children. Like siblings. Felix feels like he is about to be sick.

“You fought well, El!” Dimitri says jovially when he finally lets her go. “But I’m afraid Mother won the bet.” 

To Felix’s rising horror, Edelgard - the Flame Emperor, who took his homeland and killed hundreds if not thousands of his countrymen - turns to the Queen of Faerghus. “You shouldn’t have bet against your own daughter, Mother. It’s unbecoming.” 

“I’m sorry dear, but I play to win,” the Queen apologizes with a small smile, and the worst part is that Felix can see the resemblance between her and Edelgard, but also Dimitri. Her eyes and face are all Edelgard, but the way she smiles, polite but obviously hiding something underneath, that’s all Dimitri.

The King of Faerghus joins in, but Felix doesn’t hear what he is saying over the beating of his own heart in his throat. 

“What… the _hell_?” He says, shaking to the core. 

“Are you okay, Felix?” his father asks, a concerned look in his eyes. “Manuela told me you were doing better, but you still look like a ghost.” 

Felix can’t help it. A shrill, dry laugh escapes him. A vision of blood comes to his mind, his father’s corpse still warm in Dimitri’s arms. Long nights spent alone, wondering what he should do after the war, if there will ever be an after. 

“Me? A _ghost?_ ” He chokes out. His heart is beating in his chest and breathing is an issue. He needs to get out of here, and fast. 

Dimitri’s hand on his shoulder is entirely too much and yet entirely too little, and Felix clings to it all the same. “Felix?” 

Felix opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but all that comes out is a strangulated groan. He suddenly feels hot and sweaty, his heart pounding faster and faster, like a Dagdan drum, taking away his consciousness one beat at a time. The world quickly fades away around him, and he’s vaguely aware of Dimitri’s arms around him, and his father’s concerned hand radiating white from faith magic. It doesn’t stop his breath from coming out in short gasps, or his vision fizzling out until all he can see is the blue of Dimitri’s eyes.

 _If this is the end of the dream,_ Felix thinks detachedly moments before his consciousness fades into nothing, _there are worse final views._

-

-

-

> The next thing he knows is that he’s dreaming again, but this time he knows it for sure. It is like a dream within a dream, but somehow more familiar than the reality he has been running around in for the past few weeks. 
> 
> Like a ghost, Felix soars above Fhirdiad. The soldiers are packing up, preparing for the next battle. They make way for him - or rather his body - which so resolutely moves through the halls of Castle Fhirdiad, like he has lived there half his life. A voice in the back of his mind reminds him that that isn’t that far from the truth, just not _this_ life. 
> 
> Not-Felix knocks on a door, but doesn’t wait for it to open. Instead, he barges in and sees a surprised Dimitri bent over a complex looking set of maps, all depicting Alliance territory. 
> 
> “Hello Felix, I’m glad you returned. We were worried about you. To what do I owe-” Dimitri starts to say, stiffly polite, but he’s quickly cut off by Felix. 
> 
> “So you’re prepared to kill your sister, then?” He hears himself say accusingly, slamming his fist on the table dramatically.
> 
> A cup shakes until it falls to the ground and shatters into a thousand pieces, but neither of them pays any attention to it. Felix hates looking at people for long periods of time, but it seems that whoever is in control of his body does not have such qualms or at least not when it comes to Dimitri.
> 
> Dimitri looks shocked. “Who told you that?” He all but growls, his eyes narrowed dangerously in a way that is oddly familiar. “That is a secret only a few are privileged to.” 
> 
> “You! You told me! You told me everything,” he says, and it’s strange to feel his eyes burn with tears, and at the same time know they’re not his. “You - the you I remember, the you I loved - _always_ told me everything.” 
> 
> Dimitri looks away. “I…” 
> 
> “How intriguing,” a familiar voice cuts in. Dimitri jumps as if he is about to be attacked, but when they turn around, it’s only Byleth standing in the doorway. 
> 
> Her hair is green again, Felix notes. As a matter of fact, she looks exactly how he remembers her, and yet he feels his body react in surprise at her appearance. 
> 
> “My apologies for eavesdropping, but you were quite loud,” she says neutrally, and closes the door behind her, like Felix should have done before shouting such delicate information on the top of his lungs. “I’m glad you’re back Felix. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for weeks.” 
> 
> “Why?” 
> 
> Byleth ignores his acidic tone. “Please, tell me everything you remember. _Especially_ the parts that don’t make sense. Time-related anomalies are a specialty of mine, you could say.”


	3. the echoes of war

On the first day of the new month, Felix wakes up gasping for air, which happens more often than not nowadays. He blinks the visions of death and destruction away. Light barely filters in through the window, so it must be slightly before sunrise, Felix reasons. He takes a slow, careful breath, and feels his chest protest. The magical scar is still there, but none of his others are. He is still seventeen, living in a strange dream world where everything is _fine_.

Except _Felix_ isn’t fine. His vision swims and his mind feels like a patchwork of memories he remembers living through, and memories that he wishes he did. They overlap awkwardly, conflicting and clashing. Felix feels exhausted, despite just having had a full night’s sleep. He expected to die at Gronder back in the future he remembers, but he didn’t. He thought he was dying in Dimitri’s arms a few days ago at Gronder too, but he woke up. He keeps waking up in this strange dreamland, which makes less sense the longer he is here.

Glenn and father, inexplicably alive. Edelgard is Dimitri’s sister, and Fodlan is at peace. Dimitri’s lips- 

Felix closes his eyes and refuses to cry. He counts his breaths until they slow down and all his emotions are carefully banished. He doesn’t need his memories anyway. He doesn’t need to look back, he only needs to look forward, and the first step is getting out of this damn bed. 

He grits his teeth through the pain with practiced ease and hauls himself to his feet. He stretches his arms, legs and wrists as Glenn taught him when he was just a kid, learning how to swing a sword. He’s lost muscle mass, which is annoying but at least something he knows how to fix. He rotates his hips and stretches his legs until he feels properly warmed up, takes his sword and heads over to the training ground.

It’s the break of dawn, so he has the place all to himself. Small blessings. Felix empties his mind, raises his sword, and starts going through the motions, each kata flowing into the next until the world is reduced to his sword and it finally starts making somewhat sense again. Up, down. Left, right. Cut, slice, sheath. Repeat until it is perfect, and then keep going.

Felix continues until he falls to the ground from exhaustion, mind blessedly empty. He rolls onto his back, and watches the white clouds pass by, one by one.

He has been fighting for peace for so long, but he never stopped swinging his sword long enough to consider what he would do with it. Glenn is alive, as is his father. How often has he wished he could just throw away his title and live by his sword? Too often. _If this isn’t a dream-_

He shakes his head and lets fatigue take his wayward thoughts away. His body hurts everywhere, and his stamina is a farce. He could never beat Glenn while he was alive, and his brother has had five more years of life to improve. Felix smiles to himself. He can’t wait to challenge him. 

Renewed with resolve, he gets up and takes his breakfast with the nuns, before the rest of the students drip in. He spots Mercedes among them, chatting happily. He blinks and looks again. She’s not just sitting with them, she is dressed like them too.

When his father died, Mercedes had been one of the first to knock on his door. He hadn’t replied to her questions, and she had known not to pester him, unlike Ingrid and Sylvain. Instead, she had pushed an envelope underneath his door, containing a letter with her sincere condolences. Included was a traditional Faerghus prayer often recited by recently orphaned children. She hadn’t brought it up when he joined her later that night in the broken cathedral. She said nothing at all but waited until he sunk to his knees beside her, and together recited the prayer underneath the pale moonlight. 

He remembered stealing a glance at her the day after, feeling an awkward need to thank her, conflicting with everything he was as a person. She had met his eyes once and smiled knowingly, kind but sad. They never spoke of it, exactly how Felix preferred it, but after that night in the cathedral, the world seemed a bit less lonely.

This younger, more vibrant Mercedes does not approach him. When she finally gives in to his insistent stare and meets his eyes, none of that understanding echoes between them. 

They’re familiar strangers, Felix realizes. The war and memories that had given birth to their unlikely friendship never happened, and for all he knew, her long lost brother was alive and well. His own certainly was. 

He looks away, quelling the emotions bubbling up within him. _One less person to pester him,_ he reasons and takes an extra-large bite of his breakfast. It tastes like ash in his mouth. 

* * *

Felix is the first to arrive in the Blue Lion’s classroom later that morning. Last night, Manuela finally cleared him for classes and heavier training, unaware that he had spent more time in the library the past few weeks than he had in probably all of his months as a student at the academy. 

The classroom looks much the same as he remembers, and he supposes that some things never change. He sits down at his old seat in the very back, where he can easily tune out the professor when she discusses some useless topic and instead study something useful, like sword forms from Dagda or ancient thunder magic. Ingrid’s book on history will have to do for today, if only to make sense of this strange dream. He’ll be damned if he has to ask anyone else for help in the next month or so. 

His classmates drop in one by one. Save for the tall, long-haired young man who settles next to Ingrid, there seem to be no new faces or any transfer students from other houses. Felix looks at him from the corner of his eyes, trying not to draw too much attention. He saw the young man fight at Gronder, and although there is something unsettling familiar about him, his fighting style was completely foreign to him.

 _Well,_ Felix thinks, and quickly looks away before he is caught staring again. He’ll just have to challenge him to a duel and find out more about him. _There is no better way to get to know a person’s true intentions after all._

Like the halls of Garreg Mach, some things don’t change. His classmates for one, are still as nosy as they were before. 

Most of them do not take the hint that he’s busy and insist on expressing just how happy they are to see him up and running again. Telling him how much they missed him during the Battle of the Lion and the Eagle, like he hadn’t been right there, patching up their wounds with his meager Faith Magic reserve. 

He puts up with their unnecessary worry admirably - if he can say so himself - and only snaps twice until people start leaving him alone. Ingrid scolds him for his rudeness, but that’s such a familiar routine he can tune her out easily.

But there is one person who refuses to leave both his nightmares as well as his waking hours: Dimitri. He stands next to him like a warden, friendly to all of his house members, but at the same time almost possessively. Normally Felix would have no trouble at all chewing Dimitri out until he left him alone. 

But every time Felix opens his mouth to speak, he remembers that night in the infirmary, how Dimitri climbed on top of him and kissed him senseless. Of the many stolen moments in the past few days, when Dimitri dragged him into a deserted classroom and whispered sweet nothings into his ear like a pining maiden, or ran his hands over his shoulders and kissed him as much as he could get away with before they were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. 

He hates how much he doesn’t dislike those stolen kisses, juvenile as they are. It’s nothing like the dreams he used to have, too gentle and too teasing, but it’s… nice. His mouth goes dry and he relives Dimitri’s lips against his own like a phantom pain. It takes his breath away, and with it his ability to speak. 

Felix tries and fails to banish the memory of yesterday in the broom closet, the tips of his ears burning bright red while he buries his head in his arms.

Why is this happening to him? _Why?_

“Are you alright, Felix? Should I call for Professor Casagranda?” Dimitri’s voice is giving him a headache on top of his existential crisis.

“Leave me alone,” he hisses back.

The bell rings to signal the beginning of class, and Felix sighs in relief. At last, the Blue Lions scramble for their seats and leave him in peace. Everyone, except Dimitri, who sits down next to him like they’re eight-years-old and attached at the hip again. 

“Why are you sitting next to me?” That’s Annette’s seat, who always does her homework and is too focused on the lesson to realize that Felix is copying her answers. Dimitri used to sit in the front like the teacher’s pet he was until the war started and it all went to hell. “Shouldn’t you be sitting with Dedue?” 

Dimitri looks at him, startled. “I thought you didn’t like it when I sat next to Dedue? You always _whine_ when we don’t do group projects together?”

Felix flushes a bright red and punches Dimitri’s shoulder for good measure. “Shut up, I don’t!” 

Dimitri catches his fist before it can connect a second time. “Besides, you just recovered enough to start attending class again! It is my duty as house leader to ensure that you catch up as soon as possible.” 

_Bullshit._ Felix opens his mouth to protest, but the retort dies on his tongue when he recognizes the glint in Dimitri’s eyes. He’s lying through his teeth. Felix drops his gaze to their joined hands, to Dimitri’s thumb ghosting over his skin, like a parody of a lovers' embrace.

He jerks his hand away lightning fast. “Fine!” He grits out, and turns away demonstratively. 

He bans out the sound of Dimitri’s chuckle, and stubbornly looks anywhere but him. 

“Look who finally got out of bed,” a rough voice comes from behind him. 

Felix looks around to see another ghost come alive. 

Jeralt is a giant of a man, but if war has taught him anything, then it is that even a colossus can fall. “Good to know you’re still alive, squirt,” Jeralt says good-naturedly.

“Likewise,” Felix says before he can stop himself, earning a rambunctious laugh. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Jeralt says, alive! He should be getting used to corpses popping up left and right but he isn’t. “Or homework, for that matter. Take your time to get back into the swing of things at your own pace, and then we’ll go from there. Take it from an old man like me, better to let your body recover, or you’ll suffer the consequences when you’re older.” 

“With all due respect, Professor-” Dimitri starts, but Felix doesn’t hear the rest of his sentence, instead looks for Byleth.

She is nowhere to be found. Only her legendary father remains, wearing clothing less befitting of a mercenary and more of a high church official, although it hides none of his bulk. 

Felix bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet until he tastes blood. He has been doing that a lot lately. Keeping his mouth shut has never been something he has excelled at, much to his father’s despair. But old dogs can learn new tricks. So instead, he observes. It’s the first day of Red Wolf Moon, and Jeralt wasn’t dead ( _yet_ ) the first time around. But in this dream where everyone is alive and Dimitri keeps looking at him like _that_ when he thinks nobody is looking, he apparently is also the Blue Lions' teacher.

Felix tries to remember what he knows of Byleth’s father. He had been the Captain of the Knights of Seiros back in his father’s day, perhaps even when his grandmother attended Garreg Mach. The Blade Breaker, an enigma with a kill count not even he could match after five years of fighting at the frontlines. Leonie gushed about him all the time when they sparred, talking about how he had single-handedly inspired her to become a mercenary. He taught Byleth all she knew, if that wasn’t enough of a glowing recommendation. 

Despite it all, a smile creeps up his face, and his sword hand itches fiercely. Beating his brother was going to be hard, but Jeralt? Nigh impossible. He couldn’t wait to cross blades with him and try it anyway. 

Fifteen minutes into the lesson, Felix concludes that as far as teachers go, Professor Eisner is not exactly on the same level as his daughter. His explanations are short and he has little patience for questions. When asked for examples from the field, Jeralt easily gets sidetracked and spends the rest of the class recalling an encounter from over a decade ago. Perhaps it is due to the fact that Felix is still recovering or the lack of sleep that has been haunting him for years, but he has to pay close attention to keep up despite the fact that he already (barely) passed this Authority class years ago. 

He is so focused that when something touches his leg out of the blue, Felix instinctively slaps it away, only to find that it is a hand. A very warm, very familiar hand. Felix’s eyes go wide because it can only really be one person.

Next to him, Dimitri is the very picture of composure, attentively watching Jeralt detail a rather basic defensive maneuver that Felix has seen Dimitri break through easily many times back in the future. Few battalions are prepared to face a beast in battle, after all. If Felix couldn’t feel the hand stroking the inside of his thigh, he would almost believe the princely facade Dimitri is putting up.

He feels blood rush to his cheeks. Still a beast then, but of a different kind. When Felix tries to swat his hand off his leg again, Dimitri only grips it tighter, gently drawing circles on the top of his knee with his thumb.

Felix gulps. Dimitri isn’t wearing gauntlets, which is strange on its own. He can’t remember a time after Duscur when Dimitri hadn’t worn them. Not that he had been paying attention to him, of course. Anyone would have noticed it. _Anyone._

Without the metal separating them, protecting him, it’s outright indecent. “What are you _doing?”_ He hisses between his teeth.

Dimitri doesn’t acknowledge his words, but his fingers move a little higher up his thigh, and Felix feels mortified. 

“I-idiot! Get your hands off me! We’re in _class_!” 

Dimitri keeps staring straight ahead, and for once Felix thanks his lucky star that they’re sitting in the back, and nobody can see Dimitri getting handsy under the table, or is able to bear witness to his third personal crisis of the day. 

Suddenly a vision (memory?) of painfully careful hands overcomes him, of naked skin and a laugh that will probably haunt his nightmares for years to come. This happens more often than not these days. Felix bangs his head against the table to banish it, groaning loudly. 

“Everything alright, Felix?” Jeralt asks, coming closer and Dimitri’s thrice-damned hand is _still_ on his thigh. 

“I am fine!” He isn’t proud of how high-pitched his voice sounds.

Jeralt looks unimpressed in a way that reminds Felix of Byleth. “Sure, kiddo,” he says and continues his lesson, his eyes occasionally sweeping over Felix.

He looks at Dimitri again, who, save for the tiny smile on his lips, looks completely unaffected.

 _Bastard._ Felix digs his heel into Dimitri’s foot in a desperate bid for him to stop.

“Oof” Dimitri groans quietly before finally - finally! - retracting his hand from his leg. “Did you have to do that?” 

“Yes, you insatiable _boar_! You know what you did,” Felix hisses back, ready to murder the Crown Prince of Faerghus, succession crisis be damned!

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Felix.” Dimitri winks at him playfully, and it’s enough to throw Felix completely off balance again, even more than the hand on his leg. If he remembers a bashful Dimitri, it is from long before Glenn died. Even before the Tragedy, Dimitri had been polite and dutiful to a fault.

Felix bangs his head against the table again. And again. Maybe he will pass out again and wake up in a world that makes sense.

The Goddess doesn’t grant his request. When he looks up, seventeen-year-old Dimitri is still there, looking concerned, which is at least a familiar look on him. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? Do you want me to bring you back to your room? You only just got cleared for class again. There is no shame in prioritizing your health.” 

“I am _fine_ ,” Felix bites back. 

Dimitri casually puts a hand on his forehead, and Felix feels himself heat up. “You are a bit hot. Maybe you should lie down.” 

Felix slaps the hand away, and all but jumps out of his seat, drawing the attention of the entire class.

 _Goddess, when is this nightmare going to end?_ “Fine! I’m leaving,” he announces, refusing to look at anyone. He doesn’t care what they think anyway. 

“Sure, brat. Take care. Say hi to your future stepmom for me,” Jeralt calls after him. 

“MANUELA IS NOT MY STEPMOTHER!” 

Jeralt laughs heartily, and if his face wasn’t beet red before, it is now. Humiliated, confused, and utterly furious, Felix whirls around and stalks out of the Blue Lion classroom.

Dimitri, of course, is hot on his heels. 

“Hey, wait for me! Allow me to escort you while you’re still not fully recovered.” 

Felix wishes the ground would split open underneath him, ending his misery. He stops right in his tracks, turns around and glares at Dimitri, promising nothing short of murder. “I can walk fine on my own, _Your Highness_.”

All playfulness washes from Dimitri’s face. “Do _not_ call me that,” he growls under his breath, and when did he come so close? Has he never heard of personal space? “I can bear it from the rest of our classmates, even from Glenn. But not from you. Not _you_. Never call me that again.”

They’re standing chest to chest, just outside the Black Eagle classroom, which is in full session from what he can hear, but his blood is boiling with (probably) anger. He doesn’t care who hears, hell, he at this moment he couldn’t care less if Sothis _herself_ could hear them.

“Make. Me. _Bastard_ ,” Felix spits out defiantly, glaring up at Dimitri. 

A dark shadow falls over Dimitri’s eyes, so familiar that it makes him feel physically ill. A heavy weight settles in Felix’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. Dimitri grabs his wrist and holds it in an iron grip, and drags him unceremoniously forward.

“Let me go!” 

But Dimitri doesn’t stop nor answer him. They pass the corridor that leads to the infirmary, and Felix fears the worst. _His_ Dimitri might be an animal, but he is at least a familiar one. This creature might as well be an enigma, and Felix has no idea what to expect next of him. 

He grits his teeth, reaches for his sword, and prepares for the worst.

Dimitri hauls him into his own room and slams the door shut with enough force to make the wood crack loudly. Felix opens his mouth to scold him for it, but instead finds himself pressed against the door, Dimitri’s tongue in his mouth and hands going places that have him moaning and panting. His body responds even if his mind doesn’t, his lips moving along and his arms gripping Dimitri’s shoulders. 

Whatever he imagined Dimitri would do, _this_ was not it. 

“Stop!” He clenches his eyes shut, and shoves Dimitri off him with all his might.

It’s only a minor setback for Dimitri, who is upon him again immediately, Felix’s chin in an iron grip. His blue eyes are dark with something that scares Felix with how much he finds he likes it. 

“Say my name,” Dimitri whispers into his ear, and then bites his earlobe slightly. 

Why does that make him shiver? _Nevermind!_ Felix punches him in the gut until Dimitri stops. “That’s what this is about? Is this all some fucked up game to you?”  
  


“You told me to make you say my name. I am merely doing as you requested,” Dimitri says with a wicked grin, his hands weaving into his hair, undoing his bun with an expertise that tells a story Felix does not want to think about right now. “Now, Felix. Say my name, or I will have you sing it to me on your knees.” 

One of Dimitri’s hands start to travel downwards, and that’s when panic overcomes Felix and he starts to struggle in earnest, pride be damned. 

“Stop! Stop! Get off me, now!” He cries out desperately, his fist battering against Dimitri’s chest.

“Felix…?” Dimitri breaks apart from him immediately, the lust in his eyes replaced with worry. “I’m sorry, did I… hurt you? I thought you were just trying to entice me-” 

“ _Entice you_? Who do you think I am, _Sylvain_?” Felix spits out, trying to calm himself away from a panic attack, unsuccessfully. He starts dry heaving, something he has been doing more often lately, every time the shock of the past this dream suddenly overwhelms him. He clenches his eyes shut, and sinks to the ground.

Glenn and Father alive, this seemingly perfect world where all the worst days of his life never happened and Dimitri’s fucking hand in his pants. It’s too much.

“Fuck. I can’t handle this,” he mutters to himself.

Dimly, he registers Dimitri approaching him like a wounded animal, looking at him with so much pity that it makes Felix want to hide his face away in shame. He would, if he wasn’t trembling from head to toe right now. “Stop, don’t touch me. Just…. l-let me breathe for a minute.” 

Like a kicked dog, Dimitri immediately halts in his path, his outstretched hand frozen between them, never quite touching. If his mind wasn’t a war zone right now, Felix could have probably seen the irony at that moment.

“My apologies. It was never my intention to--” Dimitri pleads awkwardly, but Felix shuts him up with a raised hand.

Felix pictures himself in the training ground, going through familiar katas his mother taught him and Glenn before she died. He imagines every slice and cut, every graceful step before the next, until the past is back where it belongs in the back of his mind. He curses the weakness of this body one more time because he never had trouble before keeping his emotions in check, not since Duscur at least. 

“Felix, please look at me. Please,” Dimitri begs with a hoarse voice, and Felix obeys despite his best effort not too. Dimitri’s eyes are watery and guilt-ridden, and it’s a terrible look on him that Felix has seen more ever since his father died. Just because Dimitri has an extra eye now, doesn’t mean Felix likes it any better now. “Whatever I’ve done, I beg of you to tell me, so I can atone. It was never my intention to hurt you, or make you feel uncomfortable in any way.”

Felix lets his head fall back against the door. His hair is a mess, and he doesn’t want to know what his face looks like to make Dimitri act so concerned. “Stop acting like a kicked puppy. I’m _fine_.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re not. You’ve been acting so strange, and….” Dimitri trails off, his hands fidgeting with the edges of his cape until Felix hears the fabric tear. 

“Dimitri…,” Felix intends to say as a warning, but it comes out as a plea instead. 

“You almost died, Felix!” Dimitri snarls, and if his cape wasn’t ripped before, it is in pieces now, the crest of Blaiddyd flashing in the air like a warning sign. “You almost died protecting me, in my arms! Do you have any idea how it felt to carry your burned body back to the monastery, not knowing if this breath would be your last?”

Dimitri hides a strangled sob behind his hand, and Felix wishes he could look away from Dimitri unravelling before his eyes. He remembers how he felt when they announced Dimitri had been executed, the weeks before his father returned from Fhirdiad with the news that there was no body: Like the ground had been pulled under his feet, and he was falling into a void, never hitting the ground. Sometimes, he still dreams of falling, and wakes up breathless. 

Dimitri looks exactly like the face he sees in the mirror after those nightmares, and he sounds so angry and lost at the same time, that Felix can almost feel it too. It’s too familiar for comfort. 

“And then you wouldn’t wake up for days, and I could only see you every now and then, with Glenn and Rodrigue and the entire monastery watching our every move! Do you know how hard it was to sit still and not fret over you like I wanted to? Like a lover should?” 

The memory of what happened when as soon as they were alone pops up in Felix’s mind like an unwanted beacon in the dark. He feels his body heat up. In shame, or in pleasure, he doesn’t know. 

“That didn’t stop you for long,” Felix says petulantly. 

Dimitri sputters and turns bright red. It isn’t an ugly sight, Felix has to admit. “I took my chance the second we were alone, at last! Can you really fault me for that? But…” He trails off, looking dead serious. Slowly but surely he inches forward, and crouches down until they are face to face. Close enough that Felix can count his eyelashes. It’s entirely _too_ close, too much, and not enough at the same time. 

Dimitri reaches out to him, but Felix doesn’t take his hand. Instead, he pushes himself harder against the wooden door in the hope he melts right through it. 

_Is this running away, or a strategic retreat_? A voice that sounds strangely like Byleth taunts him from the back of his mind. 

Dimitri drops his hand in mid-air, and _fuck_ , are those tears in his eyes? Damn this all to hell. He can deal with Dimitri’s rage and his madness, but his tears? Ever since they were small and attached at the hip, Dimitri’s tears were contagious, and more often than not if he started crying they would both end up bawling until Glenn, Sylvain or their parents jumped in to save the day. 

Contrary to those summer days long gone, Felix isn’t keen on showing weakness to anyone, least of all Dimitri. He already has shown entirely too much lately.

Dimitri sighs, sounding wounded. “You’ve been so distant Felix. I understand you need time to recover, but if it’s something I did that is harming our relationship, I beg of you, tell me now so I can make it up to you,” he pleads, prostrating himself on his knees before him.

Why must he go and make Felix feel like the bad guy here, while it was Dimitri who is the reason that Felix has to wear a high collar tomorrow? “Okay, okay stop looking at me like that!” He exclaims and takes a deep breath. “You didn’t do anything okay? Just don’t…. don’t touch me, for now.”

Dimitri looks like Felix physically hurt him. “My touch… revolts you?”

 _Quite the opposite,_ but Felix would rather die a thousand painful deaths than admit that. “Don’t put words in my mouth!” He bites back instead, heat rising to his cheeks. Then, quieter: “… my head is messed up ever since I woke up.” 

_It feels like I’m dreaming, but when you touch me like that, I’m not so sure I want to wake up anymore,_ he contemplates saying but doesn’t. 

Dimitri perks up slightly. “Ah, Glenn said something about brain damage, but I thought he was just teasing you as usual.” 

_That fucker._ His time amongst the living in this world will come to a close soon, or so help him Sothis! “Who else did Glenn tell, the entire fucking monastery? Does he _ever_ shut up?” 

Dimitri laughs awkwardly. “You know how he is. He cares about you, truly.” 

“I _know_ that,” Felix bites back. Everyone in this godforsaken nightmare is spoiled and doesn’t even know it. It’s not like he is taking this second chance with his brother for granted, even if it is all fake. Sooner or later, Felix will challenge him to a duel, and then they will see who the better swordsman is. 

_And it’s not going to be Glenn,_ Felix vows to himself. Yes, as a matter of fact, he will send that letter right now! 

He doesn’t even realize he is smiling until Dimitri comments on it.

“I care about you too, my love,” Dimitri says sincerely, reaching for his hand but never quite touching him. Felix almost hopes that Dimitri will spare him the shame of having to take his hand. 

He’s respecting his boundaries, Felix realizes - because _of course -_ Dimitri is both a gentleman and a horrible storybook romantic on top of being way too good looking for his own good. 

“You said your head was… messed up. Do you… do you remember our love, Felix? Do you know that I wouldn’t want anyone else, even if our love is cursed to remain behind closed doors? How much I wish I could declare it to the world. ” 

Felix gulps. “I…,” he trails off, desperately seeking the words. Dimitri holds his gaze hostage, or maybe it’s Felix himself who doesn’t dare to look away. Even if this Dimitri never touched him like that in public, it’s a wonder that nobody knows what they are up to behind closed doors. Every look he bestows Felix is like a declaration of love. It’s a look he has only seen in his wildest, most forbidden dreams. A brush of lips he hates himself for waking up wanting still. 

“O-of course,” he sputters out, and it’s easy to forget for a moment that none of this is real. He’s still not entirely convinced it’s not. It doesn’t matter right now. If this _was_ a dream, he wouldn’t hesitate. With that thought in mind, he finally takes Dimitri’s hand. He hates the way his heart beats faster when Dimitri immediately interlaces their fingers, his smile like the sun. 

“Then… will you accept my apologies for making you feel uncomfortable today? I swear I will move at your pace from now on, and immediately stop when you tell me to. I would never want to make you feel… forced.” 

Felix rolls his eyes. “Stop self-flagellating already! This is on me, not you,” he bites out viciously, like he does every time _his_ Dimitri says something like this. 

This Dimitri - who by account of what they were up to no less than two minutes ago, might be more ‘his’ than any other Dimitri - is apparently not used to his behavior, and immediately looks like a kicked puppy again. 

Felix counts to ten, reigns in the most of his venom before he speaks again. “Just… give me some time and space to figure this out.” 

“I… understand,” Dimitri says, carefully. Then he leans in, closing the distance between them until Felix can feel his breath on his lips. “Can I… kiss you? Just once, before I return to class and apologize on our behalf to the professor?” 

_Yes,_ his traitorous heart sings. 

“No,” Felix grits out, and turns his head away, almost expecting Dimitri to kiss him anyway. 

Dimitri doesn’t. Instead he squeezes their joined hands together one last time, and says: “Ah, I understand. Once again, I deeply apologize.” 

“Stop. Ugh, _why_ are you so insufferable?” 

“I shall try not to be, but you’re very confusing right now, Felix.” 

Dimitri slowly raises himself back on his feet, and Felix tries to do the same without stumbling. He still feels unbalanced, untethered. 

“You should rest,” Dimitri says when he sees him falter, completely misinterpreting the cause. “You still haven’t fully recovered, and I have already asked far too much from you.” 

Felix bites his tongue to keep the insults that reflexively come to mind inside. His pride doesn’t allow him to let Dimitri put him to bed. But Felix also doesn’t tell him to turn around when he changes into his nightclothes, which he considers very generous of him, even if he himself refuses to face Dimitri.

“I will visit again after class, if… if you will allow me. Perhaps we can talk some more.” 

Felix doesn’t say anything but mentally vows to either be fast asleep or fake it convincingly enough when Dimitri returns. The last thing he wants is to talk with this or any Dimitri about his _feelings_.

Dimitri gathers himself to leave. He lingers in the doorway for a moment.

“ _What_ ,” Felix growls.

“It’s nothing.” 

But it obviously isn’t _nothing_ , if Dimitri is still fumbling with his clothes. It’s a nervous habit he used to have as a child, but got rid of some time after Duscur. But then again, this Dimitri was never forced to grow up and wear masks before his voice dropped. It would be endearing if his cape wasn’t already in tatters.

Before he can ruin even more pieces of his uniform, Felix groans, turns around to face the wall, and grits out: “I don’t hate you, you know.” 

“I’ve never doubted that, Felix,” Dimitri assures him, as if _he_ is the one that needs comforting. 

Dimitri leaves after that, and finally Felix is alone again. The exhaustion he refused to feel before quickly catches up with him, but his mind keeps him awake until the sun starts setting. 

This Dimitri may know that he doesn’t hate him. But… does his own? 

-

-

-

> At night, he dreams of his Dimitri, looking at him like he is a stranger, while Not-Felix explains what happened after Duscur. Or rather, what didn’t happen after Duscur.
> 
> Felix himself can’t quite make out the words, despite the fact that he feels his mouth form the sentences. It’s like he’s underwater, and everything is either too distorted or too far away to understand. It’s not just himself he can’t hear, but Dimitri as well.
> 
> Only Byleth’s voice cuts through the haze, clear as day. 
> 
> “This isn’t a dream, Felix,” she says, carefully. She looks at him, no. She looks _through_ him, her green eyes piercing through the miasma. 
> 
> “ _But_ ,” she continues after Dimitri says something Felix doesn’t quite catch. “That doesn’t mean that what you remember isn’t true as well.” 
> 
> Felix never finds out what happened after that. The dream - _or is it?_ \- ends as abruptly as it started, leaving him gasping for air and answers in his own bed in the monastery, seventeen again.

-

-

-

Avoiding Dimitri is an art Felix quickly masters. He spars with Sylvain, Ingrid and even Byleth a few more times. The mystery new Blue Lion student turns out to be none other than Emile, Mercedes’s younger brother. He’s a good sword fighter despite primarily focusing his studies on Faith, and they get along swimmingly. He doesn’t tell Mercedes she was right about him being a lot like her brother, since they don’t talk anymore. He doesn’t miss their tea time. Really. 

Felix trains and trains, does very little else, until his hands are bleeding and his muscles scream at him to stop. But it pays off. He’s not up to the level he was, but he feels more in control of his own body. His mind is a different story altogether, as it keeps wandering to that dream.

Or was it? Is this a dream? And if it’s not, then what is it? And, perhaps more importantly, why is he here with all the memories of a future that will never come to be?

Felix finds himself in the cathedral late at night, praying to the Goddess for answers. He doesn’t know who else to turn to at this point, and it’s not like anyone is going to believe him when he tells them: _“Hey, I remember an entirely different life, where half of you are dead, some by my hand?”_ Yes, that’s going to go over so well. People are already treating him like he’s fragile, and Glenn spread the rumor he had brain damage quite thoroughly. No, what he needs to do is gather facts, and get to the bottom of this on his own. It’s what he does best anyway.

And so he spends more and more time in the Library. Linhardt is there too, sometimes, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Most notably absent is Tomas, the librarian who betrayed them roughly around this time of the year. Looking back, his entire year spent at the academy was one disaster after another, wasn’t it?

“Tomas?” Linhardt ponders out loud when Felix eventually gives up and asks him if he knows where the Librarian is. “I’ve never heard of that name.” 

Linhardt quickly grows bored by his questions and instead directs him towards the current librarian, a quiet man named Aelfric. He explains that Tomas retired years ago, and he has held the position ever since.

 _Well,_ Felix reasons. _One less calamity to worry about_. 

The library provides him with precious little answers. There are no notes conveniently hidden in between thick tomes, nor any suspicious people running amok. He never cared to befriend any of the monastery staff - save for Flayn and Seteth, if you can call that friendship - so he can’t tell if there are any people running around that shouldn’t be there.

You know, besides all the dead people he already encounters on a regular basis. 

With that in mind, Felix shadows Miklan for a few days, but finds that Sylvain’s estranged brother is surprisingly boring. He trains, does his duties as a knight, and prays a lot with Lady Rhea. When challenged to a duel, he is not interested, as Felix quickly finds out.

* * *

Dimitri only approaches him once, on the day of the Founding of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus Celebration. They sit next to each other during dinner, and eat a traditional dish that tastes so much like home, Felix almost rivals Ingrid in his appetite. 

When he looks up from his plate, he catches Dimitri smiling at him with that same look on his eyes he had before. 

Felix swallows deeply, suddenly feeling hungry again, but for something else entirely. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“As a matter of fact you do,” Dimitri says, and reaches out to wipe it away, but stops himself before they touch. “I…. My apologies.” 

“Stop apologizing,” Felix says reflectively, far harsher than he had intended. Dimitri winces, and the kicked puppy look is back. Felix didn’t think he would, but he finds that he vastly prefers the bashful look on Dimitri wore before their talk. “Just… tell me where it is.” 

“Here,” Dimitri points left of his own upper lip, and Felix quickly cleans his face. “There, all clean now. It’s good to know you’re returning to your old strength, Felix.” 

“You should eat more,” Felix says quickly, heat rushing to his neck. “You’ve barely touched your food.” 

“Of course,” Dimitri sounds resigned. “Wouldn’t want to pass out during the choir festival later today.” 

Dream or not, Felix still can’t harmonize to save his life. The first time around, he skipped the celebration in favor of sparring with Petra instead, but he’s glad he stuck around this time. Annette has a terrific solo, and even he has to admit that Dimitri’s voice isn’t all that bad. Besides, it’s the founding day of the Kingdom, and it isn’t until you’ve lost something that you realize how much you cherished it in the first place. Felix knows that better than anyone here. 

Days go on, slowly but surely, and everything around him is _fine._ Nothing out of the ordinary.If anything, the monastery is too quiet, to the point that Felix finds it unsettling. Something has to go wrong sooner or later. It always did, and it always will.

When it turns out he is right, he isn’t happy about it at all.

Right on schedule - and somehow always at the end of the month, how did he never notice that before? - some troubled merchants throw life at the monastery completely off balance with tales of a calamity in Remire. Felix doesn’t know what happens behind the closed doors of Rhea’s office, but when Jeralt comes out, his daughter is right behind him.

“We’re leaving as soon as possible,” he says, a deep frown on his face. “Gather your classmates and whatever you need to fight, and meet me at the gates in an hour. Remember, this is no practice fight.” 

Felix nods gravely and runs off. Within the hour, the Blue Lions House plus a few stragglers from other houses are present, most notably Edelgard herself.

“Why is _she_ here?” Felix whispers, and rudely points at Edelgard.

“She was with me when I got the news,” Dimitri explains, looking at him oddly. “Besides, this is an emergency situation. We’ll need everyone we can get.” 

Felix narrows his eyes, and vows to watch Edelgard like a hawk the entire time. Last time, the Flame Emperor showed up at the end, as did the Death Knight. If the imperial princess makes any sudden move, Felix is not above striking pre-emptively. 

Edelgard doesn’t do anything suspicious during the four-hour journey towards Remire, but it doesn’t ease his nerves. A pair of eyes burn into the back of his neck, but every time he tries to find the source, he comes up empty-handed, but he knows it’s not a fluke. It’s an instinct he honed during the war, and one that saved his life more than once. 

If he felt unsettled before, it’s nothing compared to what comes as soon as they arrive. He remembers the fires and the madmen from last time. This time, it’s nothing like that. It’s far worse.

There is blood everywhere. Blood on the roofs, on the market square. Blood in the water, and even the air tastes like it. From the corner of his eye, he spots Linhardt throwing up.

“Where are the bodies?” Annette asks, clinging to his sleeve. 

Felix blinks, and looks around. He studied enough anatomy to know the human body contains roughly five liters of blood. To cover an entire town in crimson? It must have taken a least a thousand liters, if not far more. And yet, there is not a single body in sight. It’s odd, and that has never been a good sign in his life, _ever_.

Felix gravitates towards Dimitri, flickering his gaze back and forth between him and Edelgard like a man possessed. They both seem upset, but Dimitri doesn’t break down like he did last time. And Edelgard… well he never knew her well before she became Emperor, but her distress seems sincere enough.

Then, there is a scream. A woman, high pitched, on the verge of a violent death. Felix recognizes it immediately.

“We have to go save her!” Dimitri exclaims desperately and doesn’t wait for anyone with common sense to come up with a plan. Instead he rushes straight into a certain grave.

Felix unsheathes his sword and runs after him without a second thought, cursing Dimitri and the Goddess for good measure.

He almost crashes into Dimitri when he suddenly stops right in front of him. 

“Watch out where you’re--” Felix begins but stops when he sees why Dimitri stopped. He found the corpses. The town square is burning with red flames, but they’re an unnatural shade of red, magical by nature. Their supernatural light is reflected on piles and piles of bloodless corpses, stacked next to each other to resemble strange patterns.

It’s macabre. Dimitri throws up his lunch at the sight, but Felix readies his sword and scans for survivors. They’re too late to save the woman who screamed, her blood running freely on the paved streets. A man dressed in Adrestian colors holds her up, an obsidian knife in his hand.

“We need to save her,” Dimitri hisses at him.

“Get your eye checked out. She’s already dead.” Or will be soon enough. There is only so much blood a person can lose and still recover from.

The Adrestian tosses the body into the pile without ceremony. His bloody hands glow an ominous dark purple, and although Felix can’t make out what he’s chanting from here, he has seen enough dark magic to know it can’t be any good.

The ground shakes, and the blood on the floor tiles moves until it forms some sort of circle - a magic circle, Felix realizes with increasing horror - that lights up bright crimson. He feels a pull at his core, and the world becomes hazy for a second. It’s as if his blood is begging him to cut himself, to set it free. He shakes his head, bites his lip and lets the pain ground him.

This is nothing like he remembers the Remire calamity. He sees Dimitri move forward like a man possessed, like a puppet powerless in the hands of a merciless puppet master, his lance slowly moving to harm himself. Felix realizes it could very well be much worse.

“Snap out of it! We need to seek cover!” He yells at Dimitri, and when he doesn’t react fast enough, tackles him into a building. Dimitri has always been stronger than him - than anyone, really - and it takes his full body weight and years of grappling experience on the brink of death to keep him on the ground until Dimitri snaps out of it.

Outside, he hears a scream, far more familiar than the previous one. 

“ _Annette_ ,” he realizes, his heart racing in his chest. He imagines her, with that black knife in her chest, and before he can fully dispel the image he’s already back on his feet, his sword in hand. 

“Stay,” he orders Dimitri, nevermind that Dimitri has never done a single thing he told him to do. “Don’t…. don’t go anywhere. It’s not safe.”

“Felix?” Dimitri calls out confused, but Felix doesn’t wait around to listen to what he says. He runs out of the building, headfirst into battle. He’s too late to save Annette, because Byleth has already planted her sword in the Adrestian’s chest and done the job for him. But the second the mage falls down, his allies come out of the woodwork, and Felix knows they are horribly, _horribly_ outnumbered.

Caution be damned, he throws himself into battle, lets his blade taste blood like it hungers for nothing else. He moves like lightning, faster than his own legs are prepared to carry him, but indifferent to the pain. He doesn’t hear the cries of his enemies when he ends their life without question and without mercy. Right now, he is deaf to the world, in tune only to the familiar beat of warfare, the _cling_ of metal meeting metal, and the blood pounding in his ears. He swings left, then right, dodges a lunging blow from behind, rolls to the right, and immediately jumps up again, his sword raised high to parry another attack. He doesn’t wait around to see his opponent fall, already moving on to the next. 

Felix dances through the blood-stained streets and paints them even redder with the blood of his foes. He doesn’t think, doesn’t feel. He is the eye of the storm, and he never stops moving until there is nobody left to oppose his blade.

The world doesn’t shift back into focus until Jeralt finds him in the middle of a pile of corpses, all of his own makings. “It’s over now, breathe easy Felix.” 

Felix ignores him, looking around frantically. He remembers facing the Death Knight last time around before the Flame Emperor showed up. He spots Edelgard getting patched up by Mercedes’ brother. Well, in a way the Flame Emperor technically _did_ show up. But the Death Knight is nowhere to be seen. 

His heart slowly calms down, and he takes another good look at his classmates. They’re all alive, even if they’re looking at him like...like they’re seeing a monster. It’s only then that Felix realizes that he is soaked in blood from head to toe, surrounded by death. _Like they looked at Dimitri back then,_ Felix’s mind supplies unwelcomely. 

“Settle down, breathe in, breathe out, that’s a good lad,” Jeralt says slowly. Felix had forgotten he was there. “Good, calm down. Now put the sword down.” The hand on his shoulder is heavy. It’s not there to comfort him, Felix realizes. It’s to control him. Tame him, like a wild animal.

His sword clatters on the ground. His hands, so steady and sure in battle, start to tremble. 

Jeralt finally lets go of him, picks up his sword, and tucks it into his saddlebag. Felix doubts he’ll be seeing it again anytime soon. “Are you hurt badly, Felix?” 

_Is he?_ He actively tries to focus on his skin, his limbs, his blood. It’s all still where it is supposed to be, if a bit beaten up. He probably has a few broken ribs and the skin on his hands feels like it is full of blisters.

“No,” he says neutrally, numbly, eyes searching. “The blood isn’t mine. Most of it, at least.” 

Jeralt looks at him questionably neutral, and suddenly it couldn’t be more obvious who his daughter is. “We’ll call that a blessing then,” he says after a pause. “Let’s get you out of here, and patch up those hands of you.” 

Ah, yes. His hands. They’re bleeding pretty badly. He’s had worse, but Jeralt doesn’t know that.

He looks at his classmates, at the trail of blood he painted. This was their first major battle, wasn’t it? They routed bandits before this, but Miklan is alive, and from what he has seen the Western Church is keeping quiet. He overdid it, and not by a small margin. _Of course,_ they’re afraid of him. He lost control, like a beast. Like a boar.

Speaking of beasts. “Is… is everyone alright? Where is Dimitri?”

Jeralt smiles - strained but true - and urges Felix to follow him. “He’s okay. He’s helping a few survivors that were holed up in a collapsed building. That strength of his comes in handy at times like this.” 

“That’s…. good,” Felix says awkwardly, for lack of anything better to say.

When he joins the rest of his classmates, Ashe doesn’t meet his eyes, and Sylvain keeps staring at the back of his head every time he thinks Felix isn’t looking.

_Fuck. So much for keeping a low profile._

Linhardt is too frightened by the amount of blood on Felix to heal him, and Emile is preoccupied with Edelgard, so the job falls on Byleth. She heals his hands until they no longer bleed, but the trembling doesn’t stop, no matter how hard Felix tries to control himself. 

He curses himself and this weak pubescent body. He has fought through so much worse. Why does _this_ make him shake like a leaf?

“You fight like a demon. Who taught you that?” Byleth asks when she finishes wrapping up his left hand with a clean, white bandage.

Felix almost laughs. The irony doesn’t escape him. “Nobody,” he says quickly, too quickly. 

_You,_ he thinks. 

Byleth nods and doesn’t question him. Felix lets out a sigh of relief. She always did know how to respect his boundaries, unlike _some_ people.

Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear. “Felix!” Dimitri cries out when he sees him, his eyes wide with dread. Oh, right. He looks like death incarnate. Felix had almost forgotten. 

“Calm down. It’s not _my_ blood,” Felix repeats, but that doesn’t make Dimitri fret any less over him.

“Why did you leave my side?”

Felix raises a single brow. “People were in danger. Besides, you’re the Crown Prince, you shouldn’t throw yourself into the heat of battle like that.” 

Dimitri’s eyes narrow dangerously, like they do whenever Felix brings up his title or station. “And what about you? Are you replaceable?”

 _“Yes,”_ Felix snipes back. His brother is alive, and Dedue was always a better shield than him anyway. He is a sword, and the faster Dimitri understands that cutting his way through whatever obstacle is in his path is what he was born to do, the better.

Unsurprisingly, Dimitri disagrees adamantly. He grabs Felix by his lapels and easily lifts him until they are face to face, and to his mortification, Felix has to stand on the tip of his toes. “How could you even say that with a straight face! Do you know what I thought when I saw you sprint off on your own, again?” 

“Hmmm, I don’t know. Something along the lines of _I wish I had trained harder or I wouldn’t be so damn slow_ ,” Felix taunts back, a vindictive smile on his face. “I ran off to protect you! And our classmates! That’s a good thing, so stop being so unreasonable already!” 

“Now I am the one who is _unreasonable_?” Dimitri snarls, still not letting go of him. “Felix, you nearly died!” 

“ _Shut up_ about that already! That was months ago!”

“I can’t because _apparently_ you have a deathwish! You’re scaring me! You’re scaring everyone here!”

Felix kicks Dimitri against the shins, hard. “You fucking _hypocrite!_ ” 

Jeralt literally pulls them apart before Dimitri can spit back a reply.

“Stop fighting, kids. I get that the adrenaline is still soaring through your bloodstream along with all those teenage hormones, but we don’t have the healing spells or the time to patch you two up if it comes to blows,” he says, planting his considerable bulk between the two of them. “We need to get this information back to Rhea as soon as possible, and send every available knight to Remire to investigate what the hell these people were up to.”

“ _Adrestians_ , you mean,” Felix sneers, turning his gaze directly to Edelgard, daring her to reveal herself. 

“ _What_ are you implying?” She hisses back darkly, and if Dimitri wasn’t seething before, he was now.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Byleth says diplomatically and puts her hand on Felix’s shoulder, keeping him from jumping Edelgard and demanding answers the hard way, international incident be damned! “Just because they were dressed in Adrestian clothes, doesn’t mean they had anything to do with that country.” 

In any other situation, he would probably agree with her, but Felix couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that logic right now. He has seen the future, after all, lived through it. “Open your eyes! This is only the beginning!” 

“Felix, calm down,” Byleth says deceptively calm, her grip on his shoulder like a vice. “You’re in shock. You don’t know what you’re accusing your classmates of.” 

“Shut up! Don’t presume you know me! And get your hands off me!” 

But Byleth doesn’t let go. “Breathe in gently. That’s it, don’t speak, just breathe. It will all make sense tomorrow.” 

Felix is ready to tell her exactly what he thinks of her, but then bites the inside of his cheek like she taught him, counts to ten and focuses on his breathing. He has already revealed far too much today. Neither the Flame Emperor the Death Knight showed, and the Remire Calamity is nothing like the one he remembered.

 _This is a dream,_ he chants to himself like a mantra, exhaling loudly. _Sooner or later I’m going to find out how I can wake up again, and then this will only be a distant, unpleasant memory._

Byleth mistakes his silence for compliance. “See? Just keep breathing. When we’re back at the monastery we’ll talk, and you can tell me exactly what you mean. Now, will you _please_ behave?” 

Felix nods tensely, and only then does Byleth release him.

He doesn’t bother asking Jeralt for his sword back. Everyone looks at him like he is a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. They’re probably not that far off.

 _Maybe this isn’t a dream, after all,_ he thinks bitterly during the ride back to the monastery. _It’s a nightmare._

* * *

Byleth is waiting outside of his room when Felix finishes changing into his school uniform. He throws out the mercenary class armor he had been wearing. Between the blood and the torn fabric, there wasn’t much to salvage. 

“Let’s go talk in my office,” she says and waits patiently for him to go ahead. 

He feels sore, and even his blisters have blisters, but he will be damned before he will admit that to anyone, so he grits through the discomfort and walks as normally as he can.

When they arrive at the Captain’s Quarters, Byleth locks the door behind them. 

_Good,_ Felix thinks. _At least she is taking this seriously._

He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out, all air is punched out of his lungs by two successive blows in his stomach. 

“AH!” Felix cries out in pain as he tries and fails to cushion his fall. HIs head hits the ground with a dull thud. His ribs crack audibly. Sparks light up at the corners of his vision and his entire body screams in blinding agony. 

“What the hell was that for!” 

But Byleth doesn’t answer him. Instead, she plants her foot on his broken ribs, forces his back against the floor, and holds the tip of her sword against his throat. If looks could kill, he would be incinerated on the spot.

“I will only ask this nicely _once_ ,” she says ruthlessly, her blade cutting slightly into his skin, getting blood all over his clean uniform. “Who are you, and what have you done with Felix?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes the first arc! I hope you liked the cliffhanger. For the fight scene, I imagined what would happen if you would put a level 30, endgame unit, in the middle of an early game map, and then watch it from an outsider's pov. There is a price of power, and I hope you didn't miss the many parallels I've drawn so far.


	4. dancing with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix stops dancing around some uncomfortable truths, and Byleth is helpful (probably).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Russo and Arithra for beta reading!

Byleth stares at him like he has gone mad. Granted, she might not be that far off, if he stays in this dream for much longer. 

“So you’re telling me, you are Felix…. but from the future. But not _this_ future,” she repeats slowly after Felix finishes telling a very short version of events. “A future where the King of Faerghus has been dead for nearly a decade, and you’ve been fighting in a war against the Empire for more than 5 years… Is that about right?”

He had tried to come up with a cover story at first, but he is neither creative nor a good liar. On top of that, Byleth is exceptionally perceptive. In the end, the truth is stranger than fiction, more so than any lie he could ever come up with himself. He is banking on that last part to keep Byleth from slitting his throat.

“Yes! We’ve been fighting Edelgard’s war for years! She’s the Flame Emperor!” Felix yells, not for the first time. He coughs violently, a trail of blood slipping past his lips. _Great_. One of his ribs might have pierced his lung. It hurts like hell.

A shadow falls over Byleth’s eyes, and her previously unreadable gaze turns to steel. “ _Edelgard_ is just a student,” she says, her voice low and dangerous. She presses her blade to his neck until it draws blood. A warning. “She’s not even the heir to the Adrestian throne. You would do well not to accuse her of treachery without any proof.”

His friends have called him reckless more often than not. His father called it a lack of self-preservation or just plain stupidity. Felix calls it not being a coward. He spits on the silver sword poised to kill him. 

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about her feelings! I just need to break out of this dream, this spell, or whatever this is!”

“If all of this is just a dream, isn’t real, then why do you fear my blade?”

“Pain is still pain. None of this makes sense. I keep expecting to wake up!” Felix cries out and slams his fist on the ground in frustration. He immediately regrets it when his broken ribs make his entire body light up in pain. He refuses to show it, his resolve fueled by the anger that has been feeding him for years, burning even hotter because of this cursed helplessness. “Do I look like I have any idea how or why this is happening? I don’t! Maybe this is a fever dream! Black magic messing with my head! Or maybe I’m dead, and this is the afterlife!”

“We can test that last theory,” Byleth says calmly, a smile on her face that says _‘try me, boy.’_ It’s infuriating. “But if _you’re_ Felix from the future, what happened to the owner of this body?”

Felix blinks owlishly. He hadn’t thought of that before. “I don’t know, he might still be here? I have… some of his memories.”

A particular graphic memory of a night spent in Dimitri’s bed comes to mind, and Felix banishes it quickly back to the deepest depths of his mind, never to be thought of again.

Byleth looks at him oddly. “You really expect me to believe you, don’t you?” 

“I’m not a spy or an imposter! I’m me, Felix Hugo Fraldarius! There is nobody else!”

Byleth studies him for a while, her foot still applying enough pressure on his broken ribs to make him see stars every time she shifts forward.

“Alright. Let’s say I believe you _think_ you speak the truth, _hypothetically_ ,” Byleth says, but doesn’t make any move to lift her foot off him or remove her sword from his throat. “What are your plans? What are you trying to achieve?”

“Getting the hell out of here.” _What else was he supposed to do?_

Byleth arches her eyebrow. “But the place you came from sounds like hell, why would you want to return?”

Felix pauses, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach settling on top of the pain he already suffers from. He thinks of Sylvain, fighting like he wants to die. Of Ingrid and her damned ideals that will get her killed before the end of the year. Of all of his allies, his _friends_. Of Dimitri, not shining and golden, not covered in blood and misery, but the man he has seen glimpses of in the month before the Battle for Fhirdiad. The King he could become. 

“Well?” Byleth drawls out impatiently. 

“I don’t belong here. I…. I need to get back. They _need_ me,” Felix grits out between his teeth, refusing to look at Byleth. “The sooner you release me, the sooner I’m out of your hair.”

“I could kill you right now, and you would be out of my hair permanently.”

Felix smiles a bloody smile, raising both of his hands to grasp the sword. “So could I.” 

“Bold words for a teenager held at swordpoint.”

“Hmpf, you think you scare me? I’ve seen worse. _Far worse_ ,” he answers cockily and channels just the barest spark of lightning through the blade, a taste of what he could do within the blink of an eye. He is always at his most dangerous when looking death in the eye. “Don’t. Underestimate. Me. I will do whatever I have to do to win.”

Byleth stares at him, looking right through him. It’s incredibly infuriating to have no idea what she is thinking, but Felix has never known when to quit. Pain and fury blur his sight, but he glares right back at her. 

Then, suddenly, she sheathes her sword and removes her foot from his broken ribs. Felix can’t help but let out a sigh when the pressure on his ribs is finally relieved.

“Very well then. I’ll help you,” Byleth says to Felix’s surprise, like she hadn’t just threatened to kill him. 

He rolls to his feet, spitting blood on the floor. _Whatever_ , it’s not his problem if Byleth has to explain why the floor of her office is stained with blood.

“I didn’t _ask_ for your help,” Felix barks back, his eyes frantically searching the room for a weapon, just in case.

“The alternative is my sword through your chest.” Byleth reminds him a small, vindictive smile on her lips. “Felix, you’ve been acting strangely for _months_. People are getting suspicious. You suck at being subtle or secretive, and the level of skill you displayed at Remire is far beyond anything a student should be able to accomplish in his first major battle. Face it, you need help, before people with less patience than me catch on.”

She’s right and they both know it, but that doesn’t mean that Felix is going to admit that anytime soon. “What do you get out of this?”

“I get to keep an eye on you. And when you slip up….” She drags her finger slowly across her throat. “Before I was the Captain of the Knights of Seiros, I was a mercenary. They called me the Ashen Demon. If I find out you’ve been lying to me, I will show you exactly how I earned that nickname.”

Felix swallows audibly. Counts to ten like she taught him in another lifetime, and only then says: “Well, let’s get to work then. The sooner I can go back, the better.”

* * *

Felix wouldn’t call himself the most perceptive person, but he’s not _blind_ , thank you. It’s hard not to catch on when every time he enters a room, all conversations fall quiet and people suddenly have other plans. Even Sylvain and Ingrid keep their distance, and if not for Byleth keeping her end of the deal, he would be eating his meals alone. Dimitri sits next to Dedue in class, and they seem to be having a great time doing everything except talking to Felix. 

Not that Felix is staring at them, of course. He has better things to do.

Every time he turns around, he hears whispers behind his back. Words like _‘Remire’, ‘slaughter_ ’ and _‘monster’_ keep popping up. It shouldn’t hurt, shouldn’t make him want to explode at them and tell them they will be committing the same sins in the name of their country in five odd years. And yet, his fists itch and his heart aches.

There is no letter from his father yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Even during their coldest, most brutal fights, they had exchanged letters. He can’t stop his father from sending his disappointed lectures, but at the same time his father can’t make him read them. Felix resolves to burn the letter unopened as soon as it arrives. 

Felix grits his teeth and punches the training dummy hard enough to shatter the wood. _Fuck them._ He’s going to be out of here soon enough anyway. 

His bare fists bleed, more than a few splinters stuck in the skin of his knuckles. He would have trained with a sword if Jeralt hadn’t conveniently ‘misplaced’ it, along with almost all his other weapons. His only remaining sword is too precious to be shattered on dummies, so Felix resolved to work on his close combat skills. 

“Need me to heal you up again?” Byleth asks, appearing seemingly out of thin air as she has always been prone to do. 

Felix rolls his eyes, but doesn’t turn her away when she casts healing magic. “The last time was your own doing.”

“Yes, but I healed you, didn’t I? No permanent harm done.” 

Yeah, no _permanent_ harm, except for his bruised ego. He doesn’t tell her that, and instead follows her to the third floor of the monastery. Students generally aren’t allowed to visit the garden next to the Archbishop's quarters, but with Byleth by his side nobody questions him. 

Even when using the rare herbs found in the garden, the spell does not have the desired effect. It isn’t their first attempt. For the past week, Byleth has come up with a thousand and one ways to get him to ‘wake up’, most of them painless. 

They’re in the middle of cleaning up the magic circle when Jeralt approaches them. Perhaps they should have waited until nightfall after all, but Felix had been too eager to get away from this nightmare.

“What are you two up to?” He asks, one hand on his hip in a parody of a relaxed stance. Felix knows that all he has to do is say one wrong word and that hand is on his sword, and that sword is pointed at his neck.

He searches his mind for a proper excuse. “We are—”

“Felix wanted to volunteer for the White Heron Cup,” Byleth interrupts him, her face devoid of any emotion. “I’m helping him train.”

If Felix didn’t so violently disagree with what she was saying, he would be impressed by how good of a liar she is. 

Jeralt looks at the two of them strangely, and Felix readies himself for an attack. It’s a stupid excuse, but to his surprise, Jeralt buys it. He chuckles deeply. “Well, that solves that problem at least! The other kids nearly fainted when I asked them to represent. Didn’t know you had a love for dancing, kiddo!”

Felix blushes a deep scarlet. “I am not…. opposed.” 

“Good to hear!” Jeralt exclaims jovially, and claps him on the back with far more force than necessary. “You scared quite a few people in Remire. This will be good for you. Puts you in a different light, so to say.” 

Last time, the only reason he was forced to compete was because Sylvain, the original Blue Lion’s representative, had forced Felix to practice with him, and then on the day of the contest pretended to be sick. It was obviously a ruse to get Felix to perform instead, but Byleth had bought it, and so Felix earned his certification and had been forced to put it to use. To say he loved dancing in front of a crowd, all eyes on him, would be a lie. But the act of dancing itself? To move and be moved by music, to express himself without words?

Byleth catches his eyes behind her father’s back. _There are worse cover stories out there,_ Felix thinks to himself, and nods back to her. He’s going to be out of here sooner rather than later anyway, what is the worst that can happen?

* * *

As it turns out, when you tempt the Goddess, things can and _will_ get worse. Before the end of the first week, Felix is ready to blow up at someone. Byleth always has been a slavedriver when you caught her attention, and, on top of many unsuccessful attempts to break ‘the spell’, she actually made him practice his dancing. 

It’s pure coincidence that he walks into Dimitri while going to their morning practice. 

“Felix,” Dimitri says with a stiff, formal bow. “My apologies, but I can’t speak with you right now, I am rather busy.” 

“You’re avoiding me,” He snaps back, his temper barely in check. They haven’t talked since Remire, and to say Felix regrets his words would be a lie, but that doesn’t mean he can’t admit that it wasn’t entirely called for. At first, Felix enjoyed the quiet of solitude, but being an outcast is not as peaceful as he thought it would be. Not with eyes following his every move.. Accusative, judgemental, and everywhere. 

_It’s all a dream,_ he reminds himself time and again, chanting it over and over in his head like a mantra. But when it’s Dimitri looking at him like that, it doesn’t bring him any solace.

“ _Don’t_ look at me like that,” He can take it from a lot of people, but not from Dimitri, not when he knows what he is capable of.

Dimitri’s eyes are ice-cold blue. “Like what?” 

“Like I… disgust you,” Felix grits out with difficulty.

“Those are your words, not mine,” Dimitri says, ever the diplomat. “You have done everything in your power to avoid me in the past month. Don’t deny it, I’m not an idiot. And now that I grant you your wish, you are complaining?” 

“That’s not what this is about and you know it!” 

“Then pray tell me, Felix, what is it about?” 

Felix takes a deep breath, trying to reign in his anger. “I know what people think of me, what they say about me behind my back! I’m a monster, that’s what they’re saying. I crave blood, or something stupid like that.” 

It’s mostly some of the younger students that don’t know him that gossip about him like that, granted. But Annette squeaked like a mouse in a trap when he tried to talk to her yesterday, and he misses her songs more than he ever thought he would. 

“Do you?” Dimitri asks, one eyebrow raised.

“No!” Felix exclaims loudly. “Killing is part of the job, but I don’t revel in the blood of my enemies!” 

Dimitri sighs deeply, and for the first time since their spat at Remire, he looks uncertain. “I…. I could never trust someone who kills without batting an eye. My heart won’t allow it.” 

Once upon a time, Felix would have said the same. But it’s been a long five years, or maybe a long decade. But he knows Dimitri. And despite the distance he put between them, he thought Dimitri knew him too, still. 

“Is that really what you think of me?” 

“... No,” Dimitri says, after a moment of hesitation. He fumbles with the hilt of his sword, avoiding Felix’s eyes for once. “But what you said about Edelgard…,” he trails off, not wanting to repeat his words. 

“I won’t apologize again.” 

Jeralt already forced him back when they returned to the monastery. It was stiff and half-hearted at best, but enough to avoid an international incident. Not enough to keep several members of the Black Eagles from glaring at him every time he walked past. In retrospect, he was probably too quick to judge Adrestia. The Empire doesn’t seem like it is gearing up for war, and for all he knows Remire might be an isolated incident. Besides, if he was plotting an evil plan to take over the world, he would try to shift blame by wearing someone else’s clothes too. 

So _maybe_ he was too harsh. But he’s not sorry, not really. He can’t shake off the wounds etched into his soul, the reflexes developed during five long years of war of lifting his sword first and asking questions later. 

So no, he’s not sorry about what he said. And this Dimitri might not know him very well, but he can read well enough to know that at least. They stare at each other for a long time, each waiting for the other to speak. Felix has always relied on others to initiate conversations, and for the first time in ages, he regrets not learning how to do it himself. A cold wind blows through the monastery halls. It’s not nearly as cold as Fraldarius during winter, but it still makes a chill run down Felix’s spine.

Dimitri finally averts his eyes. “If that is all?” He asks, his voice polite and stiff, unpleasantly so. It feels like they are miles apart despite the fact that they’re standing right in front of each other. “I am rather busy, considering my eighteenth birthday is coming up.” 

“You’re not the only one that’s busy. Byleth is waiting for me,” Felix replies childishly, and then turns around. Nevermind, solitude sounds great. 

For a moment, neither of them make a single sound or movement before Dimitri cuts through the awkward silence, his voice low and unreadable. 

“Felix?” 

He doesn’t dare look over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Ah it’s… it’s nothing,” Dimitri says, and then quickly walks away. Felix makes his own strategic retreat towards the edges of the monastery, where Byleth is waiting for him. Under the ruse of training, they’re going to the abandoned chapel in the Northern woods to try and set up a spell that might send him home.

Nothing has worked so far, but Felix isn’t a quitter. The sooner he’s out of this strange world, the better. It might be as real as Byleth has been trying to convince him, but it’s not _his_ reality, and if the last conversation was any indication, he doesn’t belong here.

* * *

  
  


The counterspell is a failure, and Felix breaks his last sword against the pillars of the chapel out of frustration. The entire building shakes, and a few bricks come falling down. They quickly call it a day before the entire building collapses.

The walk back through the Sealed Forest is uneventful, and could even be called peaceful. Byleth isn’t keen on talking, but that suits him fine. She occasionally asks him a few things about _‘his previous life,’_ as she has come to call it, but doesn’t push when he refuses to talk about certain things. He never thought he would say it, but it feels good to let it out, to talk about the things he went through, the things he had to do for the sake of survival.

Dimitri’s words haunt him more than he would like, as does his silence. Felix spent years ignoring and downright denouncing him. Now that the tables are turned, he feels a little ashamed. Things aren’t always as black and white as they might seem, the war taught him that. So much anguish they could have been spared, if he could have realized that sooner. Could he have saved Dimitri from his demons? Could he have stopped him from falling into despair?

Felix shakes his head resolutely. There is no path but the road ahead, and there is no sense in looking back. He refuses to be chained to the ghosts of his regrets. He _will_ get back, sooner rather than later, and when he does, he’ll make good on his vows to take his father’s place at Dimitri’s side.

Felix firmly focuses on putting one foot before the other, the icy wind blowing on his face, and the slowly setting sun bathing Garreg Mach in it’s dying light. The steady rhythm of the seasons would have probably calmed him, if it wasn’t for the nagging feeling that someone was watching them.

Someone, or some _thing_. 

-

-

-

> In his dream, the world around him is white and fuzzy. Like last time, he’s not in control of his own body, but instead he floats above the battlefield and watches himself at age twenty-three fight, anchored to it. It’s a minor skirmish, and yet it seems his body can barely keep up. His form is sloppy, and he is too reactive, as if this is his first true battle. 
> 
> It’s a disgraceful sight to behold, but there is little else to focus his gaze on. Everything that is more than a few steps removed from his body is blurry. Sometimes, Ingrid dives in from above to intercept a magic spell before it can hit him, and he gets a glimpse of her as he knows her: a ruthless warrior and — although Felix hates to admit it — the paragon of knighthood. 
> 
> He wishes he could show the Ingrid that roams the monastery this: Luin cutting through two men in a single slash, blood splattering on her pegasus, before both animal and rider dance up and away, out of his field of vision. Maybe if his supposed classmates would see themselves fight like warriors instead of noble schoolchildren, if they could witness war and violence like he has, they would not be so quick to judge.
> 
> There is one mercy: nobody can witness the mockery of sword-fighting the Felix beneath him is displaying. Scorn is better than anyone witnessing this embarrassment, because who-ever is inhabiting his body is clearly blind. 
> 
> Felix spots the enemy swordsman the second he enters his field of vision, but the Felix beneath him does not. He sees the blade, raised high above the man’s head, poised to kill, and screams: “Watch out, you fool!”
> 
> But of course, nobody hears him, because this is a dream and he is nothing but a ghost floating above it all. The Felix beneath him doesn’t react.
> 
> Felix grits his teeth, wondering if he will too feel the pain when the blade cuts through his body, even if he isn’t controlling it at the moment. At least his death will be quick and relatively painless, probably. He watches the man charge forward, leap up and then— 
> 
> And then Areadbhar cuts the enemy in half before he can deal his finishing blow. Dimitri materializes out of the fog, also making quick work of the enemy mage Felix’s body was struggling with. 
> 
> “Are you alright?” Felix hears Dimitri say, his voice a little lower than the Dimitri he has been talking to lately. His heart beats a little faster.
> 
> “How…” He hears himself say — or rather, the one inhabiting his body. “Thank you. How did you know I needed help?”
> 
> “I heard—” Dimitri says, and then cuts himself off, or maybe Felix just can’t hear him anymore. Dimitri is slowly becoming less tangible. The dream is coming to an end, Felix realizes. 
> 
> He grits his teeth, and uses every inch of mental fortitude to remain in the dream. He dives forward, down and down, until he is almost touching the ground. Or, he would have, if he was corporal at all. 
> 
> It’s a losing battle, but Felix never gives up. Around him the battle rages on, although the sound slowly fades. 
> 
> “Don’t get distracted, the battle isn’t over yet!” He yells at them out of sheer frustration. If he could take over his body, he could have easily made work of these bandits. But his body doesn’t turn his way and doesn't hear him at all.
> 
> The only thing that changes is Dimitri’s single blue eye, shooting his way. Felix’s own go wide. 
> 
> It could be a fluke. Felix can’t perceive anything further than three steps away, and there might simply be something out of his vision that demands Dimitri’s attention.
> 
> _Or,_ Felix thinks, his heart beating louder in his throat. _Or_ he’s looking straight at Felix, their eyes meeting in a way that is electrifying. 
> 
> “Can you see me?” Felix asks carefully.
> 
> Dimitri doesn’t say anything in return, doesn’t answer, and Felix's heart sinks into his shoes. _Of course, it’s just a dream,_ he reminds himself forcefully. His vision starts to darken, and the world loses shape. Felix surrenders himself to it, feeling hopeless. 
> 
> But then, just before the dream comes to an end, Dimitri nods in his direction, his icy blue eye never leaving his own.
> 
> When he wakes up in his bed at the academy that morning, he feels bereft of something that was never his to hold.

-

-

-

The next week, life at the monastery comes to a halt while the inhabitants prepare for the annual ball celebrating the founding of the monastery. The entire Blue Lions class stares at him when Jeralt announces that Felix will be representing them for the White Heron Cup, but it’s different from how they had been doing lately. Sylvain bursts out laughing, and recalls an embarrassing and frankly exaggerated story about their youth to an enraptured Ashe in the back of the class. Felix sits in the front and pretends not to hear them. He is not very successful.

The entire event is a sham. People call him heartless and worse behind his back, but they are just as willing to turn a blind eye to the tragedy of the survivors in order to prepare for a party. 

Despite his poorly hidden qualms, Felix still practices his dancing, more often than not in front of other people. All part of the cover-up story, Byleth tells him. He trusts her on it. Before she showed up again after five long years, the war was an inevitable, gruesome end waiting to consume them all. Felix’s faith in the Goddess has wavered more than just a bit in the past decade, but the Professor’s return was nothing short of a miracle. He’s praying for another miracle, soon. He _needs_ to get back.

At night, he barely sleeps. It’s not regret that haunts him, he’s sure of it. But his bed is painfully empty, and his days silent. Not even training can give him peace. Nothing makes sense, unless he loses himself in the rhythm of dance. _One two three, one two three, one two three._ Again and again. There is peace in repetition, solace simplicity. 

“Today, you’ll be studying a partner dance,” Byleth says one day, throwing him off his rhythm. 

Felix opens his eyes, and turns to her. Dorothea waves back to him, a polite yet taunting smile on her face.

“Why?” Felix deadpans. 

Byleth shrugs. “I have other duties today, and Dorothea can teach you a thing or two about charm.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest out loud. He has more than enough of the fuming Black Eagles sending him death glares whenever he comes close enough. No need to aggravate them even further by insulting Dorothea.

“Well?” Dorothea says, holding her hand up to him. “Unless, of course, you think you’re too good to dance with a commoner like me.”

Felix scoffs, remembering the Meteor spell she launched their way the last time they met on the battlefield. “You’re hardly just a commoner.”

Dorothea stares at him oddly for a second, before she deftly puts her smile back on her face. He never was able to read her well, not outside of combat. 

He takes her hand and tugs her forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes twirls out of his grip easily. “Lesson one, if you ever want to dance with a lady, don’t insult her on the first step.” 

“ _What?_ What did I say this time?” Felix groans, throwing his hands in his hair.

“Nothing,” Dorothea says, but her voice is like she is talking to a child. “Nothing at all, noble boy. But your face is the very picture of disdain. At least _pretend_ you want to dance with me.”

Felix sighs, and relaxes his shoulders. Why is he doing this again? Right. The cover story. 

This time, when he takes Dorothea’s hand, it is gentle yet firm. He doesn’t pull her in, he invites her to follow, like he had been taught many years ago. This time, Dorothea smiles at him triumphantly.

“Are you ready?” She says, and puts one hand on his waist. With the other, she moves him into a traditional starting pose, as if she were the one leading the dance.

Felix stares at their joined hands for a second. “You’ve got the wrong position.”

Dorothea barks a laugh. “Prove to me you can lead, and I will allow you to,” she says tauntingly, and grips his waist a little tighter.

When she’s wearing her heels, they’re the same height. Behind Dorothea’s brazen smile, a stone-cold, stubborn spirit burns brightly. Felix hasn’t lived this long without knowing how to pick his battles, and this is one he isn’t going to win.

“If you break my toes, I will break every bone in your body,” Felix snarls back, but falls in line. 

Dorothea’s grin is wolfish. “Challenge accepted.”

In the background, someone starts to play on the violin, and Felix mentally counts the rhythm. Before Felix can protest, Dorothea starts moving. It’s odd, playing the woman’s part, but in order to master his Dancer’s certification he had studied it extensively. The steps are not the challenge, it’s giving up control and allowing himself to be led that requires his active mind.

 _One two three, one two three, one two three_. Dorothea moves left, and Felix follows. She lunges, Felix parries. It’s not unlike fighting, and before the music ends, they’re both smiling and sweating, going through more and more elaborate paces. 

From the corner of his eyes, he sees a few classmates watching him. 

“You’re much better than I expected,” Dorothea whispers before she twirls him twice. “Honestly, I thought Ignatz would be the competition, but I might just call you a rival if you keep this up.”

Felix finishes his pirouette with more flourish than strictly necessary. “You’ve seen nothing yet.”

“Oh, you’re on!”

He breaks the pattern they had going, and instead starts circling her. She mirrors his movement, never breaking eye-contact. Traditionally, the Kingdom dances are not danced in pairs, but in groups. The musician picks up his movements, and changes the tune to an old Faerghan campfire song, often sung and danced to by children. 

Dorothea is clearly an expert in Adrestian partner dances, but when he takes her hand and starts moving her as if they are engaged in combat, she stumbles through the steps. It doesn’t last long — she’s a talented dancer, and easily mirrors him after a few moments. 

They turn elegantly, their bodies in tune with the sweeping music. It’s an act of rebellion nobody but him understands, a tiny comfort in a world away from home, just a little while, Felix feels at home again. And Dorothea smiles, not just with her lips, but with her entire body. 

When the music ends, they bow to each other like they would if they had been dueling instead of dancing. It is the Faerghus way. 

“Thanks, Felix,” Dorothea says, wiping some sweat from her forehead.

“For what? You helped me.”

“You’re an odd one, you know that?” She says and takes the water bottle he offers her. Winters in Garreg Mach don’t hold a candle to those in the North, but the damn fools keep insisting on heating up every single room to unbearable temperatures anyway. “I had fun. And you never once looked at my boobs, or made a grab for my — well, you get the point. I appreciate it.”

She looks sincere enough, and Felix doesn’t understand her at all. “That’s a very low bar to set.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Dorothea laughs, but it’s not happy at all. “It is what it is. But you know what? You’re not as bad as they say you are.”

“I’m worse,” Felix deadpans.

“No, you’re just stupid. Do you ever think before you speak?” Felix wisely does not answer that question. “One final lesson, because I like a good competition. You are technically a good dancer — probably better than me — but a show is more than just going through the movements. So think about what you want to present to the people. The emotion you want them to feel. Speak with your performance rather than your words.”

“Like Byleth?”

“Like her, maybe. She’s an enigma, though. You might want to lay it on a bit thicker,” Dorothea says after considering his words for a moment.

He can’t disagree with her on that one. The more time he spends with his former (?) professor, the less he understands her. 

Dorothea packs her bag. “I’ve got class in ten minutes. But let’s do this again sometime soon, after I’ve won the competition.”

“Like hell you will,” Felix scoffs. He doesn’t know whether it is because she won’t win, or because he will be gone by then. Both, probably. Why does he care, anyway?

But Dorothea doesn’t seem even the slightest bit frightened or intimidated. “See you when I am crowned the winner of the White Heron Cup, twinkle toes!” She calls over her shoulder while running off to the Black Eagle classroom.

Felix doesn’t bother chasing her. His footwork was sloppy today, and his form was less than stellar. He still isn’t entirely up to his previous level of fitness, and there is only one way to rectify that: more practice.

He’s about to stalk off to the training grounds when someone puts a hand on his arm. 

“A moment, Felix?”

Felix turns around. “Ingrid,” he acknowledges as a form of greeting. Every time he sees her, he expects to see the proud warrior she will eventually become to stand in front of him. Instead, her seventeen-year-old self looks at him somewhat disappointedly. Well, some things never change. 

“What is it?” He grits out while gathering his belongings.

“Let’s walk together,” It’s not a suggestion. They haven’t spoken since Remire, and although he would rather swallow a beehive than tell her, he has missed her company.

Thankfully, Ingrid shares his opinion on the unnecessary wasting of both firewood and words, and leads them outside. “You’ve been acting strange lately,” she says after a while.

“Is this about Remire?” Felix begins, annoyance catching up with his voice. “If I hadn’t done—”

Ingrid cuts him off before he can repeat the same thing he has told Byleth a thousand times. “It’s not about that. You acted in defense of the villagers, I understand that. Nobody will fault you for that. It was not about what you did, but about _how_ you did it. How you have been acting for months.”

Felix bites back a harsh comment, and remembers what Byleth told him not too long ago in her office. He’s not looking forward to a repeat performance of that afternoon, this time with Ingrid’s lance leveled at his throat. Glenn would not be pleased to hear he electrocuted his fiancé. 

“And how is that?” He says, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Ingrid gestures at him like he just proved her point. “Like you’re a different person.” 

Felix shrugs, feigning indifference. “People change.”

“Not that much. Not you,” Ingrid says, slowly shaking her head. “You don’t know what you looked like out there, Felix. You were smiling, covered in blood and entrails. That was more than duty. You looked like you enjoyed every bit of it.”

Her tone is not unkind, but there is an edge to it. A suspicion — _disgust? distrust?_ — in her eyes that makes him feel uncomfortable.

He bites the inside of his cheek. The Ingrid who fought at his side for more battles than he can count — _his_ Ingrid — would understand. But he can’t explain to her what he has been through, which parts of himself he had to kill in order to survive. 

_Their death is my duty,_ Ingrid explained once, _and as much as I detest it, I will never shrink from my duty. That is my vow, knighthood or not._

He didn’t agree with her then, and he doesn’t now. But that doesn’t make it any easier to put his own beliefs into words than it was back then, when they were stuck in a trench in western Faerghus, holding the remains of a failing rebellion together. 

He thinks back to his more recent dream, of the way Ingrid wielded Luin there. It was brutal but efficient. Never once did she revel in bloodshed, but Felix could only see that because he knew her. To anyone else, she might look like death from above, merciless and cruel. 

He’s never been good with words, and finding them is hard. “I was born to fight. I take joy in dueling a worthy opponent, but not in killing,” Felix explains slowly. “But I’m good at it. I take pride in my skill. I have to or else— or else—” He curses under his breath. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You fight to be stronger than everyone, that you might protect those you care for,” Ingrid says, and for a second Felix can hear her say the very same words, only five years and a thousand corpses later. A wave of homesickness unexpectedly turns his stomach around painfully. 

Ingrid takes the pained look in his eyes for something else entirely. “I saw it in your eyes. You’ve always cared a lot, but lately, it’s like you’re afraid to show it.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Ingrid.”

“No, none of us are,” Ingrid says, but Felix privately disagrees that she is still very much a child compared to him. “Soon, we’ll all graduate. Sylvain will succeed his father, His Highness will one day be crowned king, you’ll be knighted—”

“Hmpf, not in a thousand years. Ailell will sooner freeze over,” Felix spits out.

Ingrid looks at him oddly. “I thought that is what you wanted?”

She’s not wrong. Once, a long time ago, Felix believed in fairytales too. Then his brother died, and he saw what they were really worth.

A decade-old anger seeps into his voice. “No, that’s what _you_ want,” he spits back at her, aiming to hurt. By the look of her widening eyes, he’s successful. “Or have you given up on your dream? Are you going to sit at Castle Fraldarius for the rest of your days, read silly fairy tales and care for my brother’s children?”

He can’t even imagine it. Her stupid dreams are going to get her killed one day, and he hates them for it, but it’s part of who she is.

“It’s not that simple!” Ingrid shrieks, her hands balled into fists, ready to strike.

“It is!” Felix yells back. “You either do what you want, or you don’t.”

“I have a duty to my people!” 

“Fuck duty! What if Glenn dies tomorrow? What if a war breaks out next week? What if the world goes to hell next month? Your bride price isn’t going to save Galatea then.”

He’s rambling. He knows it, but that same edge of desperation is slowly cutting into his throat, taking away his breath. 

“You’re not making any sense,” Ingrid dismisses him harshly, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

She has a mean left hook, as he is intimately aware. If he were a wiser man, he would back down, but Felix never claimed to be a saint. He’s not a coward though.

“You’re not making any sense! You always wanted to be a knight! You were always insufferable about it! You’re not meant to be— to be complacent, Ingrid!”

“People change, Felix!” Ingrid spits his own words back at him, stomping her foot on the ground.

“Not that much. Not you,” Felix echoes back in turn.

“I had to!” Ingrid screams out, her voice echoing throughout the empty courtyard. “Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury to do what I want! My father gave up everything for me. I can’t just…” She slowly trails off, hanging her head in defeat. 

She sounds defeated, and it’s a terrible look on her Felix never wants to see ever again. He never knew how to deal with the tears quickly gathering in her eyes.

Awkwardly, Felix puts a hand on her shoulder and pats it. He doesn’t know what else to do.

“Could you turn your back on your family? On His Highness?” She asks, her voice heavy with tears she is too proud to shed. “Even if they wanted you to do something different than what you believed in?”

Felix freezes. He thinks back of the moment during the Western Rebellion — the one he lived through, not the one that happened in this world. His mind follows that thought down into the rabbit hole, and he is forced to remember the past few months fighting for a delirious prince who used them with no care if they survived or not. 

He remembers thinking of how foolish they all were to follow him, to _keep_ following him. 

“I wouldn’t give in easily,” he says stiffly.

“But could you walk away?”

He packed his bags a thousand times, but unpacked them each time too. “...No,” he admits, and feels weaker because of it. As much as he has tried to cut his own path, he has always been shackled to the family curse as much as his fool of a father was before he died for it.

And now his father is both dead and alive, and it’s Felix who is reeling. He looks at Ingrid. He thought that she would be happy in this perfect dream world where his brother is alive and everything is _fine,_ but she’s only pretending to be.

“I couldn’t walk away,” Felix repeats, looking her straight in the eye. From this close, she doesn’t look that different from _his_ Ingrid. “Come hell or high water. War and worse. I’ll stay with all of you,” It’s as much a death sentence as anything, but he’s used to swallowing uncomfortable truths at this point. 

It’s a vow he’s made before to her, and he means it just as much now as he did back then, bloody and fighting a losing battle.

Ingrid nods gravely. “Then why do you expect any different from me?”

“Because I hate that you’re pretending to be happy, when you’re not.”

Ingrid barks a laugh, incredulously. “Neither are you.”

“I _am_ ,” Felix defends, but it sounds unconvincing even to himself.

“Stop lying, idiot,” Ingrid sighs tiredly and rubs her eyes with the balls of her hands. “I saw you were having fun with Dorothea earlier. You’re surprisingly light on your feet.”

The change of subject is a way out more than anything else, and Felix is more than willing to take it. “Byleth made me practice a lot.”

Ingrid stares off into the distance, stars in her eyes. “She’s an admirable knight.”

“She’s taking students,” Felix blurts out. It’s a wild guess, really, but the way it makes Ingrid perk up says enough. “Just… just so you know.”

“I’ll consider it,” Ingrid says after a long pause, every word carefully chosen. Then she pokes him in his side, where he is still a bit ticklish. Nobody but the people he grew up with know, but once Ingrid finds his weak spot, she becomes relentless.

“Fuck off!” Felix barks back, but he’s smiling, not just from the tickling.

Ingrid flashes a playful smile. “Let’s spar this afternoon. It’s been ages since we’ve crossed blades.”

“Now you’re speaking my language. Why wait? Let’s go right now.”

* * *

The next experimental attempt to break away from this perhaps-not-so-perfect dream world is so terribly unsuccessful that Felix voluntarily barges into Sylvain’s room afterwards and astounds him by venting about everything and nothing until the sun is well beneath the horizon.

They end up sprawled on the ground, and Felix in turn listens to Sylvain complain about his brother, his father and his Crest. His words don’t hold a candle to the acid Felix has heard his older counterpart spit after he has some wine in him, but pain is not a competition. 

They fall asleep like they did as children, sprawled all over each other, feeling sore in the morning. The crick in his neck is almost nostalgic

* * *

Dimitri knocks on his door on Thursday evening. Felix considers faking sleep, but decides against it. 

“What do you want,” he says in lieu of a greeting when he opens the door.

“Good evening,” Dimitri says cordially, ignoring him. “Can we speak privately for a moment?”

Felix narrows his eyes warily. “If you haven’t come expecting me to let you bed me, then yes.”

Dimitri colors bright red in shame and something else, his princely facade broken when he nearly falls over his own feet. “Felix!” He hisses, scandalized. “How— I would not— _Don’t say such things in public, not even in jest!”_

Felix snorts, crosses his arms defensively but does step aside. Dimitri all but sprints inside. This time, he doesn’t press Felix against the door as soon as it closes, but the phantom of that memory and everything that didn’t happen leaves goosebumps on Felix’s skin.

Right. They are fighting, and not in the fun, sparring kind of way. 

Dimitri sits down on his bed like it belongs to him and pats the space next to himself. Felix pretends he doesn’t get it and sits on his desk instead, as much space between them as possible. 

“As you probably know, I’ve been granted leave this weekend to visit home,” Dimitri starts after a long, pregnant pause. “My father wishes to throw a small feast to celebrate my coming of age.”

“Your birthday isn’t until next week.”

“I am grateful for what was given to me. To be able to return home for such a frivolous reason isn’t entirely fair to the other students.” 

_But the other students aren’t the heir to the throne of Faerghus, finally at an age to inherit_ , Felix thinks. He never knew her well, but Rhea is a smart woman. Any fool could see why it is a good idea to gain a favor from the future monarch of the only remaining nation of Fodlan that still acknowledged the Church of Seiros as their national religion. 

“You’re invited, of course,” Dimitri continues, still not looking at him.

It’s his way of apologizing without using the words, Felix realizes. It’s marvelous how well he can still read him, considering the circumstances, but that’s not something Felix has the time nor desire to unpack anytime soon. 

It would be so easy to just pretend nothing happened, that everything is okay between them. Well, easy for everyone else. Not for Dimitri. It would eat him up inside, sooner or later, and that is something Felix doesn’t want to risk, even if he is leaving this dream behind him as soon as possible. 

“I’m busy,” he says instead. It’s not a lie. Byleth had made a plan to break into the Holy Tomb tonight as soon as everyone is asleep, and see if casting magic from such a sacred place has any impact. It’s a shot in the dark, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

“Doing what?” Dimitri asks, his voice tight with emotions he won’t show.

“I’m... practicing.” 

Dimitri scoffs. “You do that every day, a day off won’t hurt you. If anything, from what I saw in Remire, you don’t really need it.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Felix snipes at him. 

“Alright. Well, think of it like this: Glenn will be in Fhirdiad too. We can all practice together, like old times,” Dimitri sounds like he’s pleading. 

“I didn’t mean sword training. We’re… dancing,” he says awkwardly, using the same cover story he has been using for days. Private lessons from the Captain of the Knights of Seiros apparently is the greatest excuse in the world, because he has yet to be called out on it. “She’s teaching me how to win the White Heron Cup.”

Dimitri doesn’t look surprised. “I didn’t think you cared about dancing. You certainly never joined El and I when father and mother taught us as children.”

Felix has no memory of that. “Well, I don’t care about dancing. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to win.”

Dimitri sighs like he carries all the burdens of the world, and buries his head in his arms. “Felix. It’s my birthday celebration. We’ve always celebrated our birthdays together, and although things have been… _rough…_ between us lately, I don’t want this to be the end of everything we have. Can’t you spare one weekend for me?”

 _Rough is an understatement. Try fucked up, and go down from there,_ Felix thinks.

“The competition is next week. I still have a lot to do. Byleth still has a lot to teach me,” Felix says quickly, too quickly. “B-besides. It’s not even your birthday,” He’s never been good at lying to Dimitri, even when he was nothing but a beast. They know each other too well. 

Dimitri raises his head, a dark shadow cast over his eyes and suddenly he looks frighteningly much like the beast he could become in five years time. “Ah, so that’s how it is, then,” he says and gets up from the bed. Felix inches backward when Dimitri steps into his comfort zone, his voice low and threatening. “Tell me, Felix, is she a more suitable partner than me?”

“When it comes to dancing? Easily! She could beat you in a swordfight any day too!” Felix sputters back.

Dimitri reaches out for him, but Felix moves out of his grasp before a repeat performance of last time can take place. 

“And does her touch revolt you like mine?” Dimitri growls, clenching the hand that reached for him into a fist. Then he slams the wall next Felix’s head with such unrelenting force that the plaster cracks. 

Instead of scaring him, it only makes Felix more furious. “What the hell are you talking about?” He spits out, ready to fight.

But while his anger runs hot, Dimitri’s is ice cold. He turns away and strides out of the room resolutely. “I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other. Good day Felix, I won’t bother you any longer.”

“Dimitri! Get back here!” Felix calls after him, not caring if he wakes up the entire hall. “Boar! Get the fuck back here, you bastard!”

Dimitri doesn’t look back, and disappears into his own room with a violent slam of his door. He doesn’t unlock it even after Felix spends an hour screaming against their shared wall. 

-

-

-

> That night, his dreams are different from usual. Normally they’re like scenes from a future he never got to see, but tonight there is no familiar scenery. He’s in a realm of darkness, interrupted only by the occasional green glow. 
> 
> No matter how long he wanders, or in which direction, nothing truly changes. But at least he can walk here, unlike his other dreams. He has a corporal body like the one he remembers before he died. It’s a joy to stretch his fingers and feel his own muscles ripple. This is the body he honed like his finest blade, even if it stuck in this limbo of darkness.
> 
> There is no beginning and no end, but there is a center he keeps circling back to, in the middle of which is a dark green throne. It is empty, or at least it looks that way. Sometimes, something flickers in and out of existence, and he hears an almost familiar voice that doesn’t seem to match the girl’s physique. But every time he comes closer, nothing is there.
> 
> It’s probably just his imagination. The throne looks a little bit like the one he saw at the Holy Tomb, so it is likely that his mind is playing tricks on him. It has to be, because the moment he sits down on the throne, Dimitri is standing right in front of him.
> 
> Not Prince Dimitri, age seventeen and infuriatingly incomprehensible. _No,_ Felix realizes as his heart skips a beat and his blood chills in his veins. This is the Boar King in all his twenty-three-year-old glory, missing eye and all. 
> 
> “Felix,” he says, and Felix would recognize that somber timbre anywhere. 
> 
> “Why are you haunting my dreams?” Felix utters breathlessly. “Is it not enough that you dominate my life — both the one I remember and the one I am currently forced to live through?”
> 
> Dimitri stares at him for a long moment, before a small, wry smile overtakes his lips. “I could say the same. After all, am I not dreaming?”
> 
> “Get your own dream, this one is mine.”
> 
> “Maybe so,” Dimitri says neutrally, and takes the first few steps up the stairs towards the throne. 
> 
> Felix shivers, but not from fear. Anticipation? Perhaps. He wants Dimitri to come closer, but this older counterpart remains just as distant as the one he has been seeing every day, and it is pissing him off. 
> 
> “Are you just going to stand there and ignore me like I’m nothing but a waste of space?”
> 
> There is nothing warm about Dimitri’s laugh. “That is rich, coming from you.”
> 
> Felix sighs. “Maybe so,” he admits with a heavy voice. “I… probably shouldn’t have treated you like I did. It shouldn’t have taken everyone treating me like a pariah to realize that, but what is done is done. I understand now that you…”
> 
> Dimitri looks at him with a wide, deer-like eye. “That I…?”
> 
> “That you weren’t a monster. That you aren’t, not even now,” Felix bites out. A wave of shame washes over him, but he pushes it down. 
> 
> Dimitri takes another step forward. “I would beg to differ. The things I have done, the atrocities I have committed are the works of a monster. It should not have taken the death of your father to figure out that I wasn’t helping anyone, least of all those I claimed to avenge.”
> 
> Felix groans, and if he had a sword with him, he would have probably unsheathed it right about now. “Even in my dreams you are stupid.” Dimitri blinks owlishly, which is a better look on him than the drowned cat look he had two seconds ago. “Do you even hear yourself talk? You weren’t a monster. You were just… lost. Because you let yourself fall. But also because we failed you. All of us. We should have never stood back and let you descent into madness like you did.” 
> 
> Dimitri clenches and unclenches his fists before he speaks, his voice carefully diplomatic. “You couldn’t have known what would come to pass, Felix,” He looks ready to bolt.
> 
> But that’s not true, is it now? He could not have known Edelgard would launch the continent into a war, but he had known _Dimitri_. “I saw you at the Western Rebellion. I knew exactly what you were capable of.” 
> 
> The words come out harsher than he would have liked, but not because he’s angry at Dimitri. He’s livid at himself, but Dimitri, ever the self-sacrificial fool, doesn’t realize that. 
> 
> Felix counts to ten, and then continues with a more controlled voice: “But… but I also saw you after Duscur. I knew what you had seen, what you had been forced to live through. If not for my own inadequacy, I could have…” He shakes his head violently, trying to keep a lid on his anger. “It doesn’t matter. There is no sense in ruminating what could have been.”
> 
> He takes a deep breath. “You’re not a monster. You’re a human, a King — My King. So stop wallowing and take responsibility for your actions.”
> 
> For a moment, Dimitri doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t come any closer either. Felix stares at him, his eyes always drawn to those chapped lips, no matter how hard he tries. 
> 
> Dimitri nods then. “You are right, as always. But for a long time, the past was all I had. I can’t let go of that so easily. Not like you.”
> 
> The irony of his words is not lost on Felix, who is currently stuck in some weird version of the past. 
> 
> But he’s not telling Dimitri that, not even in a dream. “I won’t apologize though, not to a figment of my imagination at least,” he says instead. 
> 
> “And if, purely hypothetically speaking of course, I was real?”
> 
> Felix doesn’t have an answer for him that he can say out loud, but apparently the scowl on his face says enough, because Dimitri barks a laugh, a real one, an echo of better times. It’s warm enough to make Felix’s heart skip a beat. 
> 
> “Even in my dreams, you are something else, my dear old friend,” He says fondly, and takes another step forward. 
> 
> Felix hesitates. “If — hypothetically — you could go back in time to when we were both studying in the academy, and talk to me. What would you do to make me stop treating you like that?”
> 
> “I tried everything I could think of at the time.”
> 
> “Your imagination must not be worth very much then, because as far as I can remember, you tried very little,” Other than a few half-hearted attempts to talk, Dimitri had been content to let him spit his acid in peace. If anything, his fake smile and eternal patience had set him off more and more. 
> 
> Dimitri — dream or not — at least had the gall to look apologetic. “Perhaps I did not try very hard, because I thought that if you hated me, you would not miss me when I died.”
> 
> “ _When_ you died?” Felix hissed back, his eyes narrowed dangerously.
> 
> “I came to the monastery for one reason alone: revenge. I was willing to give up everything for the sake of it, even my life,” Dimitri admits easily, too easily, like his life means nothing to himself.
> 
> Felix’s anger turns instantly into fear, and the energy that came along with his anger fizzles out. “You… you can’t talk like that. Like you’re worth nothing. Like you wouldn’t be missed.” _Like you weren’t missed when I thought you were dead for five long, miserable years._
> 
> Dimitri sighs. “My apologies, Felix.” But he doesn’t take back his words or deny Felix’s. 
> 
> Felix grapples with his own emotions while Dimitri looks as miserable as Felix saw him in the month preceding the recapture of Fhirdiad. He curses himself because this is them after the academy all over again, isn’t it? Dimitri is stuck in his head, and Felix only knows how to hurt with words, not how to heal. 
> 
> He opens his mouth to speak several times, but every time he does, the words desert him. Back when they were children, they didn’t need words. But even then, Dimitri had always known what to say. Some things haven’t changed, at least. 
> 
> “I never answered your question, though,” Dimitri says, and then pauses expectantly. Felix blinks. Oh, right. His question. “If I could go back with the knowledge I have now, I don’t think I would have said anything different to you. Instead, I would have… made some kind of gesture. Actions, not words, as you told me before we set out to recapture Fhirdiad.”
> 
> Felix mulls it over for a second. He did say that, didn’t he? He knows Dimitri like the back of his hand, or at least used to. Maybe the same goes the other way around. 
> 
> He takes a deep breath, feeling a little lighter. “I will try that, then. Thank you.”
> 
> “You are most welcome,” Dimitri says, a little twinkle in his one blue eye. He takes one step closer towards Felix. In the green glow, he almost looks ethereal, beautiful even. “I wish we could talk like this when I am awake too. Talking to you… well, I can’t say it is easy. But you keep me on my toes, you ground yet challenge me. I… I have missed you. Missed us.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Felix admits, his voice heavy with emotion, “Me too.”
> 
> Dimitri takes the last step, and then they’re face to face, close enough to touch. Felix can see the thin scar peeking out from underneath his eyepatch, and the little ones, on the underside of his chin, that he never got close enough to see. They tell a story he never wanted to hear, but he finds himself desperate for answers now. 
> 
> His gaze flickers back to Dimitri’s lips when they part to speak. _“Felix…”_
> 
> The sound of his name is like a prayer, and it makes Felix do heretical things like lean forward and get up from the throne and—
> 
> And then Dimitri is gone, as suddenly as he came. Felix runs down the stairs, screaming his name until his cries devolve into desperate pleas.
> 
> He wakes up with Dimitri’s name on his lips, but he’s not there when he wakes up either, and Felix feels more empty than he has in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea is in this chapter because I love her. Originally her scene was twice as long, but this chapter was originally 13k, so I had to get the chainsaw and make some painful cuts. Sorry, my queen :( I hope you enjoyed this chapter, a lot of miscommunication on so many levels going on here, but they're all getting better (right? Right) Some parts might be a little confusing here, but that is mostly intentional. Next chapter will answer some questions.... but feel free to hit me up if you can't wait for that.
> 
> Sorry for the wait! My partner and I got Corona (he works in the hospital, so it was bound to happen) and it really wrecked me. But we're recovering, and all of your kind comments really made me happy, so thank you all ❣


	5. a better liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Dimitri talk, at long last.

The letter from his father arrives around the same time Dimitri returns from Fhirdiad. In the end, Felix can’t find it in himself to burn his father’s words, but neither does he read the letter. His dreams never stop, but outside of them he doesn’t cross paths with Dimitri again until the day of the White Heron Cup. 

Dream Dimitri’s words keep echoing through his mind. Actions, not words. He’s never been gifted with words, but he also doesn’t know how to apologize with his actions. After many restless nights, he breaks down and asks Ingrid.

“Why not give him a dagger, or a fancy weapon?”

Felix raises a single brow. “He has daggers aplenty, and he hardly needs another sword to break.” A waste of good steel, in his opinion.

Ingrid sighs. “I don’t know. Glenn sent me chocolates last time we had a fight, but I don’t think His Highness has a sweet tooth. Usually you’re the one that tells me what to get him for his birthday, not the other way around.”

It isn’t like he hadn’t tried. The Dimitri from his dreams had been right, but Felix’s earlier attempts at reconciliation - a gesture, to use Dream Dimitri’s own words - had not helped at all. Before the end of the week, he got sick of it and challenged Dimitri to a duel, but instead of fighting through their issues like they usually did, Dimitri had turned him the cold shoulder and brushed him off. He never realized how annoying it was to try and talk to someone who dismissed everything you said before you could finish a sentence, and more than once he had cursed his younger self for treating anyone that way in the past. 

Felix looks away guiltily, and quickly changes the subject before he gives away his secrets. 

They end up sparring before too long, and Felix is pleased to note that Ingrid is improving, although she is nowhere near the level of his Ingrid. 

He sees her studying for the Pegasus Knight exam later that week.. He doesn’t say anything about it, but when she meets his eyes, she smiles shyly. She’s a diligent student in every world, it seems. It’s a testament to how well their friendship has grown that Ingrid spends at least twenty minutes every day to lecture him about his own abominal attendance record. 

What she doesn’t know is that Felix skips half of his classes in favor of preparing to get the hell out of here. 

One night Byleth and Felix sneak into the Holy Tomb. It’s far too easy, and apparently not just for them. Some of the graves show signs of tampering, and after he tells Byleth of what transpired here in his version of events, they spend most of their night looking for clues. Other than some suspiciously empty tombs and strange markings made of dried blood, they don’t find much. 

The warp spell that should have brought him home doesn’t work either, and Felix returns to his bed mere hours before sunrise with a heart burdened with something close to regret. He doesn’t sleep well that night, and not for the first time either. 

-

-

-

> This time when he dreams, it's not about Dimitri. He dreams of a green-haired Byleth. Under her watchful eye, Mercedes and Annette draw symbols Felix has never seen before on his bare skin. Dimitri is there (he always is, isn’t he?) but Felix doesn’t look at Dimitri, and Dimitri doesn’t look at him. 
> 
> In the end, the ritual fails, so the dream isn’t really any different from his waking hours.
> 
> “There must be something we’re missing,” he hears himself wonder out loud, and can’t help but agree wholeheartedly.

-

-

-

On the morning of the White Heron Cup, he swallows his pride and dresses himself in the black and blue dancer robes Byleth helped to procure for him from _somewhere_. Asking her for help was humiliating, even if she did not understand the significance of these colors. He recalls his dream with Dimitri - the older, not the younger one that keeps avoiding him like the plague. _Actions, not words. A gesture of good will._

He looks at his reflection in the mirror one last time, curses the Goddess and his fate, and sets off. It’s going to be a long day. It’s easier to knock on Dimitri’s door than to apologize, even if it means getting up at the brink of dawn. As it turns out, Dimitri’s hair looks even more of a mess in the morning. 

“What in Seiros’ name—” Dimitri starts, but Felix cuts him off before the ice can seep back into his voice. 

“Listen up,” he says, heat rising to his cheeks. “Today, I’m going to win. So you better watch me dance.”

Confusion is palpable in Dimitri’s voice. “O...kay? As house leader, I am expected to watch the competition regardless of who competes, as you know.”

“I’m going to win, wearing this,” he says, fingering the blue layer of fabric that covers most of his legs, contrasted by the deep black that covers most of his upper body. It’s a shade off from his usual dancer’s costume back home, which bears the Blue Lion’s colors. This silk is Blaiddyd blue, the color of Faerghus Royalty. _Dimitri’s_ color. It’s not much, but Felix doesn’t know how else to say that he isn’t revolted at all by him than by dressing in his colors.. 

Byleth might have missed the symbolism, but it isn’t lost on Dimitri. Felix doesn’t get to enjoy the way Dimitri’s eyes go as wide as platters when he sees him. He’s too busy staring everywhere except at Dimitri for that. 

“Do you understand?” He hisses after Dimitri doesn’t say anything for a long time. 

Dimitri audibly gulps. “We will see,” he says mysteriously, but his voice sounds a little higher than it usually does. “I-is that all?”

It isn’t, but Felix knows he isn’t getting anything else out of Dimitri now. He nods, and turns around to take his leave, the long skirt fluttering behind as he moves. He feels Dimitri’s gaze burn into his back until he walks down the stairs.

* * *

“Good luck,” Jeralt says that night before the event starts, and hands him a sword. It’s not his own sword, but a more delicate one. The blade of an artist, fragile but deadly. “Figured you needed this, since you recently lost your swords.” 

“Thank you,” Felix says, and bows deeply once he recognizes the blade’s worth. It’s a Wo Doa, a nearly priceless weaponry which far outshines the iron swords he lost. 

Jeralt smiles at him, and then leaves him and the other competitors alone in the backstage area. 

Dorothea is the first to perform: style and grace hand in hand. She’s the favorite for the title, and it’s easy to see why. The ease with which she performs is something Felix can never even hope to achieve. It’s mesmerizing to watch and over all too soon.

Then it’s his turn. The curtains rise, and Felix steps into the centre-stage, his back ramrod straight and nerves he hasn’t felt in ages making him antsy. His only comfort is the shining new sword in his hand. He grips it like a lifeline.

The lights are all on him, hot and blinding, making it hard to see the crowd unless he focuses on familiar faces. But that doesn’t mean a thing when he can still hear their whispers. “ _Remire_ ,” he hears a few times. “ _Monster_.” 

He considers walking out right then and there. This competition is nothing but a farce, a cover-up story. Soon, he’ll be out of this dreamworld anyway, and this will all just be a strange memory to think about the next time he is dying in a ditch. He’s almost looking forward to the normality of it. 

Then there is suddenly a different voice, familiar. Sylvain and Ingrid are hollering his name, and when he looks in their direction they are holding up a Blue Lions house banner that looks horribly stitched together. It almost makes him laugh how bad the lion looks. He is touched that his friends are supporting him despite everything that happened recently, but it’s doing nothing for his nerves to know that they’re watching him make a fool of himself.

Then he sees Dimitri sitting next to them. He is looking everywhere but at him, but he showed up, which Felix didn’t expect, even after this morning. Actions, not words. Felix suddenly becomes hyper-aware that he looks like he belongs to Dimitri in front of all his friends, and all of his resolve breaks again.

Felix almost turns around to leave, but then he sees his competition standing on the side. Dorothea looks at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking, a mischievous smirk on her face. He can’t hear her speak, but he can read lips well enough: 

“Go then, run.” she mouths, the sound overridden by Alois announcing him as the representative of the Blue Lion House. “Run away with your tail between your legs, if you’re so afraid of losing to me.”

“ _Never_ ,” he hisses back, voice full of spite. If Dorothea thinks a little bit of hip twirling is battlefield dancing, she’s got a big storm coming! 

And just like that, all his nerves are gone. Felix closes his eyes and waits for the music to start. He remembers the drums of war, the sound of metal against metal, the eternal hymn of life and death. It all blends into one rhythm, older than time itself. Felix lets it overtake him until the drum of his heart and the beat of the music are one and the same, and then he _moves_. 

Every tap of his foot and every arc of his leg has a purpose. Graceful and deadly, his sword strikes a thousand invisible enemies, followed by the barest flutter of lightning. Every twist and every turn, every gyration of his hips and every flick of his wrist, it’s all part of a dance on the line between life and death. 

Distantly, he registers the sounds of surprise, but it all becomes part of the music. Years in the past, in a different lifetime, he only won this competition because Dorothea dropped out at the last second. His dancing had been graceful, but that was about everything that could be said for it. Like everything else, dancing was something he mastered on the field of battle, not in a stuffy classroom. As a certified battlefield dancer, he danced to reinvigorate and to mourn, to celebrate the victorious survivors, and to honor the lives lost. 

_But most of all,_ Felix thinks as he fluidly performs an aerial movement that seamlessly transitions into a split leap, _tonight, I am dancing to win._

For a moment, the world stops being upside down, and Felix feels like he is in control. He lets his feet carry him through the steps, mind lost to the music and mastery of his craft. He dances fast and lethal, all fire and passion. Then, when the song slows down, he sheathes the blade and changes into a traditional Faerghus dance, the kind that Cornelia outlawed the second she took control over the Kingdom. Every flick of his wrist has a meaning, every step a history. 

A thousand men have danced these steps before, and if Felix has his way, a thousand more will do so in the future. During the darkest days of war, dancing became a rebellion none of the people sitting here will ever understand, but that’s alright. He’s not dancing for them tonight. 

When the song comes to an end, Felix bows with far more flourish than he ever otherwise would. For a moment there is a deathly silence, and then the room erupts in a thunderous applause. He shoots a sidelong glance at Dorothea, smiling smugly. 

She’s not smiling anymore, but clapping with tears in her eyes, looking as if he touched her soul. It seems not even she is immune to the subtle uplifting magic of the Special Dance. 

He looks at his classmates who stare at him like they’re seeing him for the first time. He quickly looks away. Maybe he overdid it a little, again. Glenn always did warn him that one day his competitive nature would be the death of him. Felix quickly disappears behind the curtains to make room for the next contestant.

Ignatz performs a traditional Leicester dance, but Felix doesn’t really pay attention to it. It arguably isn’t truly a fair competition: they’re all beginners, and he mastered this certification years ago. 

Afterward, the jury’s decision is unanimous. “The winner of the 1180 White Heron Cup is... Felix Hugo Fraldarius, of the Blue Lion house!” Alois announces loudly, and his classmates lose the last of their senses. 

Sylvain and Ingrid are the first to storm the stage and tackle him to the ground.

“You won!” Sylvain yells at him, and pulls him into a tight hug before he can stop him. “I didn’t know you could dance that well! Where did you learn that?”

“I... practised a lot,” Felix says awkwardly. It technically isn’t a lie although it does feel like one.

Dorothea and Ignatz are no sore losers, and congratulate him thoroughly after the Blue Lions students have finally released him. Even Jeralt puts a fatherly hand on his shoulder and tells him he is proud of him.

“I will admit I had my doubts when Byleth suggested you as our rep, Kiddo,” he says jovially and slaps Felix hard on the back. “But I should have known you would be great at it if you put your mind to it.” 

“Thank you, Sir,” Felix says, and starts unclipping the sword from his belt.

Jeralt shakes his head and pushes it back into his hands. “Keep it. You’ve earned it. Just think twice about who you point it at.” 

Despite the casual tone, the warning isn’t lost on Felix. “Thank you. I will,” he promises, and bows formally. 

“Well, time to pay my dues.” Jeralt sighs deeply. “That’s what I get for betting against my own student, I suppose.”

Felix steals a glance at Byleth, who is watching from a distance. She holds up a small satchel of gold, raises her other thumb up high, and lazily winks at him.

He glares back at her. _Sneaky bitch! You totally knew I would win!_

“Couldn’t have done it without her, Sir,” he grits out, his smile full of teeth.

Jeralt claps him on the back one last time, and then leaves to strike up a conversation with Alois about his wife and daughter. 

For weeks, his classmates looked at him with fear and apprehension. But it is as Byleth said - the moment after he takes the trophy home for their class, the Blue Lions put their differences behind them and celebrate his victory as if it were their own. Sylvain hoists him up on his shoulders and Annette makes him promise to dance with her at the ball in return for a private concert. Ashe and Dedue congratulate him more discreetly, but when Claude comes along with more alcohol they’re not supposed to have, they all join in. 

He usually doesn’t like celebrations, loud noises or being in the spotlight. But, after three weeks of cold shoulders and fearful glances, he welcomes them. There was very little cause for such joy the last time he won. He will be gone soon, and when he returns to reality, many of the people that now drink to his victory today will be dead, some of them by his blade. 

_If I can give them this one moment of blissful, ignorant joy,_ Felix thinks as he guides Annette through the steps of a simple Waltz, _then that isn’t such a bad thing._

Not everyone warms up that quickly. Some students still eye him warily, but it seems that the people he cares about at least have realized that he is still Felix. When he isn’t being forced to dance, he manages to catch up with Annette and Hilda about the recent events in the monastery. Ashe tells him how his brother Christophe was the last Faerghus student to win the White Heron Cup, and Felix is surprised to learn that Lord Lonato apparently never defied the church. Perhaps, even more surprisingly, Christophe and Glenn turn out to be former classmates who still write to each other often.

Halfway through his conversation about Glenn’s mishaps during his academy year, he realizes how much he has missed this. How happy he is to listen to Annette’s endless chatter. If all it takes to make them smile again is to humiliate himself for the sake of his house, he will gladly do so every day for the rest of his life. That goes for this world, as well as his own. It’s an uncomfortable realization, even if it makes him feel warm inside as well. He needs these people, far more than they will ever need him. 

Felix's feet hurt when he finally manages to wrest himself free from all the partying, and sets off to bed. He doesn’t make it that far because Dimitri is waiting for him outside of his room. 

“Felix,” Dimitri greets him, sounding stiff and formal. “May I have a word?”

“I’m tired,” Felix says. He was careful not to drink any of the punch Claude and Hilda spiked, but he still feels a little hazy from all the commotion.

“I’ll keep it short.”

Felix pretends his heart doesn’t speed up at Dimitri’s sudden willingness to talk.. “Spit it out then.”

Dimitri looks pained. “I’d rather speak… privately.”

Felix rolls his eyes dramatically, sighs long-suffering and hopes he doesn’t sound too eager when he complies.“Alright, alright…”

“Splendid. Let’s go to my room,” Dimitri says, and he waits for Felix. He feels Dimitri’s eyes burn into his back, where they have been all night, and for a moment Felix deliberates bolting away and holing up in Byleth’s office for the rest of the night, or however long it might take for them to find a way to bring him home. 

Dimitri had barely congratulated him after the competition ended, instead hung around Edelgard and Claude all through the party. He danced with his sister a few times and once with Marianne, but otherwise sat on the sidelines, watching. If Felix wasn’t so adept at recognizing the signs, he would have missed the two metal goblets Dimitri had dented despite the picture-perfect smile he kept on his face.

That mask doesn’t come off the second the door closes behind them, as Felix had expected. He remembers last month, the heat from Dimitri’s chest as he pushed him against the door, his lips— 

_Nope. Not going there._ He shakes his head firmly, and waits for Dimitri to speak. 

After a short eternity, he finally does. “Once again, congratulations on winning the White Heron Cup.”

“You already said that,” Felix says, raising a single brow. “I told you I would win, didn’t I? Did you doubt me?”

“That’s not it.” Dimitri hesitates for a moment. “I… wish to apologize.”

Felix’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why?” It doesn’t make any sense when it is Felix who should be apologizing, but Dimitri is known for his mental leaps from time to time.

“I… haven’t been very fair to you lately. I’ve said awful things, and I regretted them almost instantly after I said them…,” Dimitri says and sighs deeply. “You were spending so much time with Byleth, I couldn’t help to feel…,” he trails off, looking to the side.

Suddenly it clicks in Felix’s head. “Jealous. You were… _jealous_?” 

“Yes,” Dimitri confirms, looking ashamed.

Felix pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling the need to hit things with a stick well up within him. “Just talk to her already. She likes you better than me, she always has.”

Dimitri blinks owlishly, before barking out a short laugh. “Jealous _of you_? No, Felix, I was jealous _of her_. Of your attention.”

Felix nearly falls forward from surprise. He had always thought that Byleth and Dimitri had been far too close for a student and a teacher. After Gondor, it had been her who pulled the broken pieces of Dimitri back together and made sense of Rodrigue’s sacrifice. 

Every time he saw them walk together he felt a familiar rush of annoyance, perhaps even jealousy. It wasn’t so much about what Dimitri said about their old professor. It was in his smile, and the fact that he always had eyes for her, when he barely ever looked at hi— anyone else. 

To think that Dimitri — any Dimitri! — would prefer his company over that of the Professor was… doing things to him. It satisfied a ferocious beast that lived in his chest, green with envy and spite. 

Dimitri clears his throat, interrupting Felix’s minor mental breakdown. “You really _were_ training for the competition, weren’t you? You couldn’t have performed as well as you did today if you hadn’t.”

“Yes,” Felix lies through his teeth. He hates feeling guilty about it, because Dimitri looks like he did after his father died, full of regret and self-loathing and trying to cover it up. He hates that last part more than anything.

Dimitri nods sadly. “I shouldn’t have accused you of cheating on me.”

“ _That’s_ what you thought?” 

“She’s a marvelous woman, nearly unparalleled with the sword. And, with her, you wouldn’t have to hide,” Dimitri clenches his fist tightly, sounding ready to hurt himself. “You wouldn’t have to be my dirty secret.”

_He’s hurt,_ Felix realizes. It’s a wound older than Felix’s time in this dream world, but it is bleeding tonight more than usual. Sadly, Felix was raised to hurt, not to comfort. 

“Do you really think I care about any of that?” He hisses, hoping that it will get through Dimitri’s thick, self-loathing skin. “Do you think I care about what _anyone_ thinks?”

“Yes. Of course you do,” Dimitri counters matter-of-factly. “Maybe not everyone, but you care about your brother’s opinion. Our friends’. Our fathers’. You’ve been pretending to be so cold and self-reliant, but I’d like to think I know you better than that, Felix. You truly do care a lot.”

“That’s not the point!” Felix exclaims loud enough for any unsuspecting bypasser to overhear. Good thing Sylvain is too busy getting drunk on Claude’s punch to hear them. “The point is, nothing happened between me and Byleth. And it never will, so it’s a pointless discussion.” Then, with a softer voice, he adds: “I thought you were still angry at me because of Remire.”

Dimitri frowns. “I am,” he says, suddenly sounding tired. “And I still think you should apologize to El properly. But after our conversation… I realized that it wasn’t fair of me to corner you like that, to judge you. It was our first major battle, and I was as excited as I was horrified. My emotions got the better of me. And for that, I apologize.”

“Ugh, stop taking all the blame already!” Felix exclaims, feeling exasperated. “I was a dick, alright? You can say it. I killed a lot of people. I don’t regret it, it was for the best.” He swallows deeply. “I said things I shouldn’t have. I… regret it a little.”

“I know,” Dimitri says. But he doesn’t, because he looks just as much as a drowned cat like he did in Felix’s dream. And suddenly Felix knows exactly how to remedy that. 

“Ugh, what else do you want to hear? I’m sorry, okay! For everything.”

Everything is a loaded term. It could mean anything. _Sorry for being a bitch to your warmongering step-sister. Sorry for months of ignoring you. Sorry for years of talking to you like you were less than a human, when in reality I had the same capacity for violence. Sorry for not being there when you needed me most._

This Dimitri doesn’t know the full extent of what happened between them. _But,_ Felix thinks as he sees the tension glide off this Dimitri's shoulders like rain, _it’s a start._ A practise round, for an apology he owes _his_ Dimitri when he finally goes home again.

“Thank you.” Dimitri’s smile is careful, but his eyes betray his happiness. “Does that mean... you still wish to be with me? Do you still love me?” He asks, gently, as if Felix is made of glass and any wrong move will shatter him. 

Felix nearly keels over, ready to deny everything related to feelings out of reflex. But the look on Dimitri’s face keeps his mouth shut, makes him count to ten, and _think_ first. 

_Does he?_ The person whose memories he inherited surely loved Dimitri, but he isn’t in control here right now, is he? It’s him - Felix Hugo Fraldarius and nobody else - who steps forward, reaches out for Dimitri’s trembling hand, and squeezes it tightly. 

It’s _his_ heart that is beating fiercely in his chest. Even before he ended up in this world, it always skipped a beat when Dimitri would look at him with that earnest, boyish look in his eyes. 

Does he love Dimitri still? Felix feels the heat from his rapidly racing heart travel up his spine, coloring his cheeks bright red. It’s stupid. _Weak_. But the answer is as simple as it is age old, no matter how much he hates himself for it sometimes.

“I do,” Felix says softly, refusing to meet Dimitri’s eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”

_His_ Dimitri — or rather, the Dimitri he knew, whom he has no right to call his own — will never love him back like that. But this Dimitri? The Dimitri right in front of him melts the second he utters those words, his smile brighter than the sun itself. It _does_ things to Felix, and maybe it’s about time he does things himself too.

He leans forward, standing on the tip of his toes. Still not looking at Dimitri’s eyes, because that’s too much. But brushing their lips together, shyly tasting their heat of his own volition? He can do that. It’s not their first kiss, but it feels like it. It’s the first time he initiates it, and Felix feels like a child, swinging his sword for the first time. Clumsy, inexperienced. Inadequate.

The kiss doesn’t last more than a few seconds, and when they pull apart, Felix dares to look at Dimitri. His eyes are blown wide, and his mouth has fallen open.

“What? Was it that bad?” Felix spits out, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. 

“No!” Dimitri sputters, and immediately draws Felix back into the circle of his arms. “It was wonderful, I… I missed you so much. I thought I had ruined us.”

“We _just_ went over this. Don’t be so fucking selfless. I am as guilty as you are, if not more.”

Dimitri doesn’t look convinced, but instead of talking, kisses him again carefully, searching for the lines he cannot cross. Like Felix is a porcelain doll he can’t afford to break.

Felix bites Dimitri’s lip viciously until Dimitri pulls away with a yelp.

“Don’t treat me like I’m a _princess_ ,” he challenges Dimitri with a haughty voice. “I don’t break that easily. I know you can do better, so show me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The _again_ goes unsaid, but Felix hears it clear enough. 

Felix faux-sighs. “I have to do _everything_ around here,” he grumbles and then enthusiastically throws himself back into the kiss, his arms looped around Dimitri’s neck and in his mind only a desperate need to know what the back of Dimitri’s throat tastes like. And Dimitri is nothing if not a quick study, moving his hands in all the right places and making delicious sounds Felix will probably hear in his dreams for the rest of his life.

Felix might not have much experience in kissing, but like everything he puts his mind to, he masters it quick enough. That goes for sword fighting and dancing, and apparently also for romantic endeavours. 

They ‘ _practise’_ for what feels like hours, and when he finally manages to pull himself away from Dimitri the next morning, he has to put a scarf around his neck to hide the hickeys Dimitri left there. He would feel more embarrassed about it if Dimitri didn’t look at least twice as disheveled, quickly darkening marks all over his half-exposed chest.

Felix always plays to win, and that right there? That’s a victory in his book.

-

-

-

> He was a fool for thinking his strange, otherworldly dreams wouldn’t find him if he slept in Dimitri’s arms, because not long after he let sleep claim him, he awakens to a familiar dark void. This time, he doesn’t bother wandering, and immediately searches for the dark green throne. Each step on the luminous stairs feels like a pilgrimage.
> 
> He won’t allow foolish hope. There is no guarantee — one dream is hardly a precedent. But his foolish heart beats loud in his chest, making him walk a little faster either way. When he sits down on the throne, the same flash of light blinds him like it did before, and, for a moment, all colors invert around him.
> 
> Then, Dimitri is standing next to him, a small smile on his face.
> 
> “Ah,” he says, his single eye twinkling with carefully hidden happiness. “We meet again.”
> 
> Felix doesn’t know what to say to that.  
>   
> “I much prefer this dream over my usual nightmares, you know,” Dimitri says conversationally. Felix can imagine: they used to share a wall, after all. He has heard him cry out during the night, pleading to people that were never there. 
> 
> “I’ve had worse, too,” Felix says neutrally, careful not to betray anything, reflexively hiking his collar higher to hide bruises that aren’t there. He’s in his old body after all. “Although dreaming within a dream won’t last much longer, I hope.” Or he might not be able to return after all, but he doesn’t tell Dimitri that. 
> 
> Dimitri blinks owlishly, looking so much like his younger self that it blindsides Felix. “I’m not sure I follow.”
> 
> Felix sighs. “Neither do I. Honestly, I wish I had my sword and you had your lance. I’d rather spar with you than talk about this mess.”
> 
> “But we don’t,” Dimitri says with a small, teasing smile on his face. “Maybe we should try this ‘talking’ instead. I’ve heard it does wonders.”
> 
> Felix thinks back to the Dimitri that is currently in his bed, and blushes a deep scarlet. Wonders, indeed. His gaze finds Dimitri’s lips like they have their own field of gravity, and Felix is helplessly caught in the orbit. He wonders if they taste the same as the ones he spent kissing all night. 
> 
> Dimitri might be missing an eye, but even in his dreams he can be remarkably perspective, far more than his younger counterpart. “What happened?” He asks, a raw authoritative edge to his voice that reminds Felix exactly who he is talking to.  
>   
> Felix rips his eyes away, and focuses on the dark void in front of him. “Nothing.”
> 
> “If you can’t be honest to _‘a figment of your imagination,_ ’ then to whom?” 
> 
> _Actions, not words,_ Feix reminds himself. He reaches up to grasp Dimitri by his lapels without getting up to show him exactly what he was thinking about. Because maybe that smug bastard has a point, and this _is_ his dream, and he can do what he wants. Which is kissing Dimitri, apparently. 
> 
> But his plan falls apart before he can reap the benefits, because his hand goes right through Dimitri’s body, like he’s trying to grasp smoke.
> 
> “Ah,” Dimitri says, sounding a little miserable, but in a practised way, like he is used to disappointment. He reaches out slowly, carefully. “You are like the others, then.”
> 
> “The others?”
> 
> “You don’t want to hear it.”
> 
> “Try. Me.”
> 
> Dimitri sighs and takes a step backward. “My father, my step-mother, Glenn. Sometimes even your father, nowadays. Their ghosts — or at least so I used to believe — speak to me from time to time.”
> 
> “You think _I’m_ a ghost?” Felix exclaims incredulously. 
> 
> Dimitri looks sad but resigned to his fate. He nods sharply, raking his hand through his messy hair. “You have been acting oddly, lately. Spouting words about a world— ” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t talk to you. I promised you — the _real_ you — that I wouldn’t allow myself to be consumed by my ghosts ever again. Focus on the living, not the dead.”
> 
> He regards Felix sadly for a moment, and, in those few seconds, nothing exists but each other’s eyes. Dimitri reaches forward, and Felix can almost feel the heat of skin when Dimitri’s fingers are supposed to make contact with his lips. But they never do, instead they slip through him, like he is nothing more than a ghost.
> 
> _Am I dead?_ Felix asks himself for the first time in weeks. _Is Byleth wrong after all, and did I end up in my own personal hell?_ He swallows deeply _._
> 
> But then Dimitri pulls away abruptly, and hurries down the stairs without sparing him a single look. 
> 
> “Farewell, Fellix,” he whispers, but in the vast emptiness surrounding them his words echo louder than anything they have said tonight.
> 
> “Damnit, Boar!” Felix cries out in frustration, but the moment he gets up to chase Dimitri, he’s back in his own bed, reaching out into the darkness. 
> 
> Dimitri — the younger one — snores loudly besides him, his hands curled possessively around Felix’s body. His grip is near unbreakable, even in his sleep. Felix leans forward and softly presses their lips together. Warm, slightly plump and most definitely real. More real than his dream at least. Not hell then, Felix thinks with mixed feelings. It takes a long time before he can calm his rapidly beating heart enough to sleep again, but, even then, it is restless.

-

-

-

  
In the days immediately after the White Heron Cup, Felix wears the collar of his shirt high. Sylvain asks him a salacious question about it once, eyeing him sharply in a way that implies that he knows far more than he lets on, but Felix threatens him with a duel to shut him up. 

He still hears whispers wherever he goes, but at least his classmates seem to have embraced him back into their fold. He doesn’t care much about the opinions of the others, but it is irritating that nobody is too keen on sparring with him anymore after what they witnessed in Remire. It’s a shame, but, save for Dimitri, they weren’t much competition anyway, so instead he spends his mornings sparring with various members of the Knights of Seiros, and, one morning, even Professor Jeralt himself.

He loses, but not as spectacularly as he thought he would. If only he becomes just that bit faster and avoid a few more of his hits, he probably could meet him on equal terms by the end of— 

Felix stops his train of thought. It doesn’t matter, _shouldn’t matter,_ because he will never get to see the end of the school year. In a few days, the full moon will rise, and while the rest of the monastery is too busy dancing away the night and getting drunk in the ballroom, Byleth and Felix will sneak out to the Goddess Tower and perform the ritual that will send him home. They made a breakthrough last night, and Byleth told him that if this wasn’t going to work, then nothing would. 

“What’s wrong, Felix?” Dimitri asks, patting his leg a few times under the school desk. It still catches him off guard, but it’s a compromise Felix can live with. 

“Nothing,” Felix whispers back. He grasps Dimitri’s hand and squeezes it in a way he hopes is reassuring. 

Dimitri shoots him a quick smile before turning his attention back to Jeralt’s lesson. Felix tries to do the same, but fails. The dreadful feeling that is stealing his breath away for all the wrong reasons has become more and more common lately. It makes it hard to focus.

* * *

Byleth has always been remarkably perceptive, and he shouldn’t have thought he could hide something big from her in the first place.

“Is something wrong, Felix?” She asks when they meet under the cover of darkness for the fourth night in a row..

_“Nothing,”_ Felix says. He puts on his assassin’s gear and tries to merge with the shadows. 

It’s long past the midnight hour, and although he is going to regret this tomorrow morning, this is the only time they can sneak into Abyss and it’s precious library without being seen by anyone above the ground. Before he came to this reality, he never knew such a place existed beneath Garreg Mach, and once he gets back to reality he is sure to do some exploring. 

The citizens of the Abyss know better than to question their comings and goings, especially since Byleth has an understanding with the benefactors of the underground society. Felix doesn’t question it too much, more than content to help with the legwork of their research instead. Most nights, that works out well enough. But tonight he can’t seem to focus on forbidden knowledge no matter how interesting he knows it must be.

“Are you _sure_ there is nothing wrong?” Byleth asks again after a few hours of delving through the library and Felix still hasn’t said much.

“ _Yes_ ,” Felix answers flatly.

Byleth sighs. “Look, we don’t have to perform this ritual this month. We can postpone it until next month if you need the time to take care of whatever is on your mind.”

Felix crushes the hopeful longing that rises in his chest mercilessly. “The faster I’m out of here, the better.” 

“It’s not that easy. Nothing we tried has had any effect, and we have tried almost everything. Why is that?” 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

But something in the back of his mind disagrees. _There must be something we’re missing,_ the voice from his dreams — his own voice — echoes through his mind. 

He thinks back of Dimitri, his hand reaching for him — no, _through_ him. It must have been a dream. It must have been because Felix can feel his heart beating in his chest. He’s alive… right?

Byleth puts her book down and looks at him with something that is disgustingly close to pity. “Maybe the reason that we keep failing, is because there is nothing to succeed in. Have you ever considered that this isn’t a dreamworld, the effect of dark magic or anything of that sort?” 

_Yes_ , is what Felix thinks. “No,” is what he says.

“You have suffered a great wound only two moons ago. Maybe the memories you claim to have of your ‘reality’ could instead be fabricated by the mental trauma of nearly dying?”

Felix stomps towards her, his hand on his sword. “Are you calling me a lunatic? I thought you believed me?” He hisses at her. 

“I told you I believed you weren’t a spy or an imposter,” Byleth answers nonplussed. “And it’s not that I don’t believe that you _think_ you know the truth. It’s just… a farfetched story. A continental-scale war? That’s the stuff of nightmares.”

“I lived through it!”

“I know you _think_ you did, and I’m not saying you didn’t. But even nightmares can feel real when you wake up. And If this was a dream, wouldn’t you have woken up a long time ago?” Byleth asks patiently.

It’s not as if Felix hasn’t thought about it at length whenever sleep eluded him, but he doesn’t like to waste time thinking about could-have-beens. “So maybe it’s not a magic induced dream. Maybe it’s just a curse. Who cares? I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the details, all that matters is that I need to go back! Is this ritual we’ve been preparing going to do that, or not?”

Byleth ignores most of his tirade. “From what you told me, there is precious little to return to.”

“They _need_ me,” he stresses. 

“But what do _you_ need?” 

Felix stubbornly refuses to answer that question. 

“There is nothing wrong with being happy, Felix,” she continues, patting him gently on the shoulder in a similar fashion as her father often does. “I didn’t mean to upset you, or make you think I doubt you. I don’t, but I think it’s important to keep our eyes open and consider all options.” 

“Whatever.” All of this yammering is pointless anyway, and talking about his feelings is something he actively avoids exactly because how choked up and _weak_ it always makes him feel afterward.

“All I’m trying to say is that maybe it’s time to take a break. Just live in the moment and see for yourself if this world is real or not. Stick around, if only for a while? We can always keep trying if you decide that you still want to go through with this. Doesn’t that sound like a plan?”

“No,” Felix lies. He has to, because the alternative is too dangerous, too appealing. It’s the only thing on his mind every time Dimitri presses a kiss into his neck, every night they stay up for hours talking about Zoltan, stupid things their classmates did or the state of the Kingdom. This Dimitri is so bright and perfect. Too perfect. 

He can’t afford to wait, because, if he does, he might get lost and never find his way back again. 

Judging from the look on Byleth’s face, she isn’t buying it.

_“_ We’ve wasted enough time with this nonsense. Let’s keep researching, or get the hell out of here. Why are we looking at books about...,” Felix trails off to read the cover of the book he has been staring at for the past fifteen minutes without registering a single word written inside. “Underground cults of ancient, long-dead civilizations _anyway_? How does this Shambala place relate to getting me back to home?” 

“More than you think. Some well-informed sources down here say that they’re not extinct at all, for starters,” Byleth says in the same tone of voice she would use when teaching. “More importantly, they excelled at teleportation magic, among other things.”

She shows him the book she had been leafing through for the past half an hour. Every page is filled to the brim with ancient text and complicated drawings of curses and spells. It’s insanely complicated, far above his skill level really, but he has seen his share of these magic circles in the field to recognize its nature. 

“Looks like dark magic to me,” he comments, eyeing her suspiciously. 

“It is,” Byleth confirms, “But we tried conventional magic, and it didn’t work. Time to think out of the box.”

Well, he can’t exactly argue with that logic. With renewed focus, he tries to actually understand the book in hand. It’s written in an archaic dialect that Felix has trouble making sense of. _Useless_. He has a talent for casting lightning-based magic, and only that. Annette has tried to teach him other Reason spells time and again, but it never worked out. He never tried dark magic, but he doesn’t see why this would be any different.

The fatigue of the day is starting to set in, and he gives up on reading and switches to leafing through the book. It’s handwritten and artfully decorated with diagrams and drawings of magic circles. 

A red circle catches his eye. He almost misses it. He would have, if the atrocity he saw in Remire less than a month ago hadn’t been burned into his memory, fresher than any battlefield he has lived through. 

“This magic circle,” Felix says, and all but shoves the book in Byleth’s hands, pointing out a particular illustration, drawn in blood-red ink. “I think I’ve seen it before. In Remire.”

“Let me see that.” Byleth squints to read the words engraved in the circle, but it’s not a language Felix has ever seen before. “You’re right,” she says after a long moment, her voice tinged with surprise. “This might actually be useful…” 

_There must be something we’re missing._ Dark magic might be it, but after what he witnessed, it doesn’t sit well with him. 

“So, we just need to draw that, and I can go home? Or do we need to sacrifice a thousand people first?” Felix says sarcastically. If he didn’t think this was a waste of time already, he sure does now. Nothing can convince him to commit the kind of atrocity saw in Remire, even if it means he can never go back again. 

Byleth ignores him, hungrily reading the tome like a woman possessed. “This does explain the bloodless corpses. Blood makes up the primary component of this spell,” she mutters to herself. “But this is not a teleportation spell.”

“Then what is it?”

Byleth looks up at him, an uncharacteristic deep frown on her face. “I think it’s meant to dispel permanent magic. Which doesn’t make any sense. Remire was but a simple farming village, there was no longstanding blessing or any other spell that would warrant such a large sacrifice. And yet…. no, that doesn’t make sense at all,” Byleth mutters under her breath, her eyes shooting back and forth.

“ _You’re_ not making any sense.”

Byleth looks up at him, and he can tell that’s testing her patience. “I’m sorry, Felix. Let’s keep looking for a way to get you home, okay?” She says lightly.

For all the years he has known Byleth, she has always been better at reading him then he was at reading her. But even in the dim light of the candle, he can clearly see that she’s not half as unaffected as she would like him to believe.

Something is up, and she knows more than she’s telling him. 

Felix takes a deep breath, carefully schools his expression, and pretends to let the issue go. If anything, this weird trip through time and reality has made him better at lying and deflecting. 

“Alright,” he says neutrally. They find a few more components for their spell that night, and Felix carefully copies them into his notebook. She might not entirely believe him, but that doesn’t stop Byleth from doing the bulk of the spell crafting work. 

Felix is no expert on complicated magic like this, but he’s steadily improving under Byleth’s guidance. As much as he respects her father for his skill in battle, Jeralt doesn’t have Byleth’s ability to make anyone understand any subject. He always admired her ability to spot a budding talent from a mile away, no matter how dormant. He would never have even considered learning a single spell, if not for her encouragement. The Blue Lions — perhaps the entire Kingdom — owes Byleth in more ways than one. But that doesn’t mean he trusts her completely. Felix watches her like a hawk, as eager to learn as he is to go home. 

It is only _because_ he is looking so closely that he notices that when they leave mere hours before sunrise, all but one book is returned to their proper place. _‘The forbidden art of Shambala’_ disappears in Byleth’s robes before the Abyssian librarian notices anything is missing.

Felix keeps his mouth shut. _Whatever_. It doesn’t matter anyway. If — no, _when_ the ritual succeeds, he will be out of this place, and whatever is going on in Remire and his sketchy could-be professor is no longer his problem.

* * *

He never was around to celebrate Dimitri’s eighteenth birthday the first time around. Granted, there was very little to celebrate back then. As far as he knows, Dedue went out of his way to make a special breakfast for Dimitri that morning, an effort that in retrospect was entirely wasted, and Byleth had tea with him. Felix remembers writing a letter to Dimitri, or rather, attempting to do so. He had stared at a blank white page for hours before giving up, figuring his father had probably sent enough congratulations for the both of them. 

During the long years in which Dimitri was believed to be dead, Felix sometimes looked at that piece of paper, wondering that maybe if he had entrusted his true thoughts to paper, he could have persuaded Dimitri from riding off to Fhirdiad, and to his death. 

There is no sense in ruminating on the past. _Actions, not words._ So instead, when Dimitri turns eighteen for the second time, Felix wakes up early. He’s in Dimitri’s bed, but he has become adept at leaving without making a noise to sneak back into his own room for propriety's sake. Instead, he meets Dedue and Ashe in the kitchen just after dawn. Together — which is to say that Felix helps with the cutting and very little else — they make a breakfast worthy of the Crown Prince of Faerghus’ coming of age.

Dimitri’s smile when the entire class delivers him breakfast in bed is worth the effort. Something stings in the back of his mind, reminding him that this is all temporary, that it isn’t real. But it’s hard to listen to that voice when Dimitri's smile is this radiant.

Soon, Felix will be back at fighting a war, and half of the students who today congratulate Dimitri will be either dead or ready to kill him. Soon, but not today. Today, Dimitri nearly cries when Felix gives him a Sword of Zoltan he’d had his eyes on for ages. (Money means nothing in a dream, right? Might as well spend it on quality weaponry, especially if it makes Dimitri happy.)

That night after they are both properly disguised, Dimitri reluctantly follows Felix into the Abyss, where they drink more than a few glasses of wine despite Dimitri’s initial reluctance. Tonight, they find a corner so dark and forgotten where they can make out to their heart’s content. Tonight is all that matters, until the daylight comes.

-

-

-

> In his dreams, the world is decidedly less cheerful. At the early light of dawn, Felix looks at Dimitri watching over Fhirdiad like a hawk. Or perhaps more like a lion, lying in wait, knowing that something must come to pass. Vigilant, never sleeping. 
> 
> The world around him is hazy. He can’t tell if he is standing on the top of the tower, or looking up from the ground. All he can see is Dimitri. And for a moment, it’s almost as if Dimitri is looking back at him.
> 
> Until Byleth cuts through the mist. Her voice is the only clear thing he can hear. “I’ve found something,” she says, her green eyes blazing.

-

-

-  
  


The 25th day is the night of the ball. Wearing an upgraded version of the outfit in which he won the competition, Felix watches with something akin to jealousy as Dimitri and Edelgard open the ball together while he is forced to dance with the Golden Deer house leader instead. Hilda isn’t a bad dancer, but she keeps blabbering his ears off the entire time. He prefers Claude’s pointed looks and scandalous whispers any day.

As the winner of the White Heron Cup, he is expected to repeat his winning performance in front of an even larger audience this time. Nobody seems to be able to tell that this performance is equally improvised. If anything, they cheer even louder. Afterward, the entire room feels renewed and rejuvenated, not in small part because Felix helps Claude spike the drinks. After an hour the ballroom has been reduced to a cacophony of teenage hormones and something that could maybe charitably be called dancing. It’s a chaotic mess, and nobody would notice anyone slipping in or out the room, all according to plan.

Felix stays far away from the alcohol, and watches the moon slowly rise through the high windows, waiting. He agreed to meet Byleth when the moon was at its highest point in the sky, just after midnight. Even if someone were to catch them, it wouldn’t be strange to be found in the Goddess Tower, or to request some privacy. It’s a ridiculous myth anyway, but he has learned a thing or two the past month, and one of those things is becoming good at _‘creative usage of the truth,’_ as Byleth likes to put it. He hasn’t quite mastered her poker face, but he doubts that’s possible anyway.

It’s slowly starting to settle in that this is probably his last night here. He watches Ingrid and Sylvain dance clumsily but with great joy. He hasn’t seen them smile so much in years. If only to himself, he can admit he will miss the quiet, uncomplicated happiness of this dreamworld. 

Speaking of things he will miss, Dimitri’s eyes keep catching his, his smile teasing. Before they left for the ball, Dimitri helped him dress, his hands hungry and unhelpful. It took far longer than necessary, but for once Felix allowed Dimitri to press a thousand little kisses against his skin. 

“One for every moment we can’t spend together tonight,” he said, smiling sadly. Felix had kissed him then, fast and demanding, until they had to fix their hair again. What Dimitri didn’t know was that it meant ‘farewell forever.’ They wouldn’t meet again tonight in his room, they wouldn’t finish what they started, because Felix would be home and all of this would be just another memory to repress.

He should be happy that this confusing mess is finally coming to an end, that he got to experience the things he did here. And he is grateful that he got to see his father and brother one last time, even if they didn’t realize what that meant to him. 

Felix clenches his fist. He should be happy this is finally coming to an end, but he isn’t.

“Finally taking a break, are we?” Speaking of the devil, and he shall appear. 

Felix turns around to see Glenn, dressed in a charming formal attire befitting of the true heir of Fraldarius. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" Felix demands, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He doesn’t mind looking like this in battle, because the dancer’s outfit has a purpose there. But that doesn’t mean he wants his brother to see him wear it. 

"Nice to see you too, little Fe. For your information, my fiancé invited me," Glenn says and flicks his forehead teasingly. Then, more seriously he adds: "I didn't know you had a talent for dancing Felix. You were great out there, I almost couldn't believe it was you." 

Felix elbows Glenn in his side, even if what he is saying is technically the truth. "Shut up. Go dance with Ingrid and leave me alone."

"Nah, unlike you, I have two left feet. Besides, you look like you need a break. Let's go outside and catch a breather, shall we?" 

Felix looks for Byleth, who is still dancing with Claude in the distance. The moon is still rising. There is still time.

He looks at Glenn, and knows he can’t really say no even if he wanted to. “Fine.” 

Glenn laughs, and together they dodge drunken dancing couples left and right until they’re finally out in the open. The sky is beautiful tonight. It is as bright and cloudless as it had been this very same night five years ago, when they all made a promise to return here in five years for the Millennium Festival. It was just as cold back then, too. 

They sit down near the gazebo, far away from any prying eyes and loud noises. 

Felix sighs. "Why are you really here?" 

Glenn sighs and takes a sip from his drink. "You've been acting strange lately,” he says eventually. “You haven't answered any of our letters in a month and you skipped out on His Highness’ birthday party. We're worried about you, Fe."

"I've been busy training."

Glenn turns to him. He’s no longer smiling. "Ingrid told me about Remire."

_Of course_ she did. It’s all everyone has been able to talk about the entire month. It shouldn’t anger him as much as it does, but suddenly Felix feels like he is on fire. "I did what I had to do to protect everyone! If you had been there you would have done the same." 

One night, a few weeks after the tragedy of Duscur, Felix had made the mistake of sneaking into Dimitri's bedroom and demanding to know exactly what happened to Glenn. Dimitri spared no details of how many men his brother had fought off to protect him, burning and bleeding until there was nothing left of him. Felix didn't sleep for weeks afterward, haunted by the quiet, emotionless cadence of Dimitri’s voice. In retrospect, it was the beginning of the end of their friendship. 

He looks his brother in the eyes, and wills him to understand. Glenn - this Glenn - didn’t die to protect Dimitri. But he knows his brother, and although he despises chivalry and it’s worship of death, he can’t deny that his brother embodies all the good things about knighthood. 

After a long, tense moment, Glenn finally nods calmly. "I know you did, Felix." 

Felix groans. "This is what war is like, what we have been trained to do our entire lives. Why can nobody see that?" 

"They care for you. And we worry about you," Glenn explains slowly, as if Felix is a little child. They’re the same age, although Glenn doesn’t know that. "Something is wrong. You wouldn't be avoiding Dimitri like this if there wasn't. Come on, you can tell me. I won’t snitch on you to dad, you know that."

_I can’t!_ Felix wants to scream. _You would never believe me, and if you did, you would never let me leave._

“Felix?” 

"You promised me a duel. If you win, I might tell you."

Glenn raises one eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're not even wearing shoes, Felix."

"Do you think I can't take you on like this?" Felix challenges him, his hand on the Wo Dao Jeralt gave him. Damn, he’s going to miss that sword. 

Glenn barks a laugh. "Your track record of — hmm, let me count — _zero_ wins against me, tells me otherwise," Felix growls at him in response, but Glenn continues unfazed. "Besides, Ingrid would kill me if I ruin her evening by getting your blood all over my formal clothing. Next time we meet, I'll bring a good sword, and then we'll fight. But not tonight."

His stomach makes a painful twist. "Fine," Felix grits out bitterly. There won’t be another time, but Glenn doesn’t know that. He thought he had given up preparing for a duel with a corpse, but he is still disappointed. 

"What's wrong, Fe?" Glenn asks again, this time more insistently. 

Lying is becoming easier. Although it’s not a skill he is proud to master, he can’t deny it’s usefulness. _“When you can’t think of a lie,”_ Byleth had instructed him after their nearly disastrous encounter with her father on the top floor of the monastery, _“Just deflect with another truth. Confuse them until they forget what they were originally asking.”_

He closes his eyes, turns his head away and grits out: "Did you know Dimitri and I are sleeping together?" 

Glenn laughs. "Yeah, obviously. I used to babysit you all the time, remember? You would cry for days after father forced you to sleep in your own bed." 

"Not like that. Sleeping together. As in—" He makes an obscene hand gesture Sylvain taught him, and Glenn drops his glass. It shatters into a thousand pieces on the ground, and Felix thinks that his efforts to distract his brother worked out better than expected. 

"You're fucking with me," Glenn says slowly, his eyes as wide as saucers.

Felix grins wolfishly. "No, I'm fucking with _Dimitri_ , that's the entire point here." Nevermind that he only has inherited memories of the actual act and no actual experience to speak of. 

"Wow,” Glenn says, and stares at him like he is seeing Felix for the first time. _“Wow.”_

Felix shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but he can’t recall a time when he ever knew something his brother didn’t. 

"How long had this been going on?" 

"Since the rebellion. Two years." 

Glenn pales comically. "Goddess, so you mean that time when I entered His Highness’ bedroom back then without knocking you were actually…." 

Felix has no idea what he is talking about, but he won't let an opportunity like this go to waste. "Yes."

"Oh fuck, I am never looking at that desk the same way again. Or His Highness for that matter," Glenn moans dramatically, burying his head into his hands. "This explains so much, like why he was acting so frantically when you were comatose."

"We made out the second you and father left." 

"Felix stop, please! Too much information!" Glenn shrieks, blushing bright red from head to toe.

Even though he set out to provoke his brother, his extreme reaction still hits a wrong chord within him. "Is it really that bad?" 

Glenn sobers up a little. "I'm sorry, I need a moment to reconcile the knowledge that my baby brother is having sex with my other, pseudo younger brother." 

It stings to hear speak like that about Dimitri in a childish way he hasn't felt in years. Despite being a sarcastic little shit, Glenn was a paragon knight and noble heir. Felix always had a lot of competition for his attention, and it only made him more hungry for his approval.

Felix banishes the emotion into the pits of his mind with the rest of all his unwanted feelings. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be out of here soon enough anyway. 

"How have you managed to keep this a secret all those years?" Glenn asks after a long, uncomfortable silence. 

Honestly, Felix wonders that too. Neither of them is very good at this secrecy thing. He shrugs and lets Glenn draw his own conclusions. 

"Okay, moving on from that mental image.” Glenn shakes his head violently from left to right. "I take it there's trouble in paradise ever since you nearly died for him, which is why you two are running circles around each other and you’ve been behaving like a giant ass lately?" 

Felix draws his knees up and wraps his arms around them, not looking at Glenn. "Something like that."

“I… don’t know how much I can help you with that. To be frank, I can’t say this is what I expected to be why you’ve been acting so weird lately," Glenn admits, awkwardly wrapping an arm around him like he did when they were young and Felix was still afraid of thunder. "Don't get me wrong, Fe, if this is what makes you happy, then I support you both a hundred percent But have you talked about the future? Dimitri is supposed to take a queen, and I doubt Father will hold off the proposals for your hand much longer once you graduate, considering your Major Crest and all. Are you two really prepared to live the rest of your lives in secrecy?"

"We… haven't talked about it much." But judging from the sad looks Dimitri keeps sending him every time they do speak about the future, it can’t have been far from his mind.

"You’re almost an adult, Felix. The time for games and make-belief is almost over. Take the remaining time you have left to think about what _you_ want. What _you_ need. And if it’s worth the cost." 

It sounds strange, coming from a man who has always put the benefit of everyone else before himself. 

"Do you want to marry Ingrid?" Felix wonders out loud. 

"What's this suddenly about?" Glenn looks at him strangely, caught off guard by his question. "Yes, I guess? She's a great girl, and we've been engaged since forever. I haven't really thought about it much."

"Maybe you should take some of your own advice. Life is over before you know it."

"You're morbid tonight, aren’t you?” 

“I’m being realistic. You’re a knight, and if I’ve learned anything from chess, it is that knights are merely sacrificial pawns to protect the king.” 

Glenn hugs him closer against his side. He feels so warm and alive that Felix shivers violently, blinking back tears. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m not so easily killed,” Glenn promises him, and Felix wants to believe him so badly it hurts. "I'll talk to Ingrid. You talk to Dimitri. Then, next time we meet, we’ll cross blades properly and maybe talk. Alright?"

Felix buries his nose in the fabric of Glenn’s shirt, and inhales. His brother smells exactly like he remembers, even if that memory is fading. Felix commits every beat of Glenn’s heart, the tone of his voice and the heat of his skin to memory. Only for a minute, he allows himself to forget that all of this isn’t real. That there will not be a next time. 

Glenn pats his head awkwardly. They’ve never been a family prone to overt displays of affection, and as soon as they break apart Glenn excuses himself back inside. 

It takes effort to let him leave, but Felix forces himself to look away. Instead he focuses on the way his breath makes small clouds in the cold winter air. The moon is at its highest point in the sky. There is no more time for doubt.

* * *

When he finally reaches the top, he is alone. He stands on the edge, and takes a moment to enjoy the view. Felix is reminded how far the sky above him reaches, and how low the valleys go beneath him. Faerghus is a cold land, barren at best, starving at worst. Plains and desolate pastures go on for miles and miles, a heavy pack of snow on every rooftop around this time of the year. But here at Garreg Mach there is barely any snow dusting the peaks of the mountains. The weather here is temperate all year, a holy place barely affected by the changes of the seasons. Even after five years of war, the monastery remains essentially the same as it has been for almost a thousand years, although a little worse for the wear. After the war is over— 

Felix is suddenly overly aware of the way his feet are slowly freezing against the cold marble floor. Soon, he will return to Fhirdiad, the capital of ice. Once he returns, once the war is over, he won’t be able to go outside barefoot, for fear of frostbite. But here, right now, the night young and the stars dance above him, teasing him with a hint of the infinite. 

Light yet deliberate footsteps pull him out of his thoughts.

“You’re late,” Felix says without turning around. 

Byleth offers no explanation. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Felix turns to her. Her eyes are blue, deceptively blank. The moonlight catches, and in it’s pale glory the color is almost exactly like Glenn’s. Like his father’s. (Like Dimitri’s.) 

He looks away and grits his teeth. “ _Yes_. Now let’s get to it.” 

“Very well,” Byleth says, and hands him the holy oil they stole from the Holy Tomb. He unsheathes the Wo Dao her father gifted to him and brings it to his hand. He hesitates. A swordsman values his hands, lives and dies by them. The sword is well crafted, light but deadly, the blade well maintained and as sharp as can be.

Byleth watches him, her eyes burning into his skin like a branding iron, marking him as — as _what_? A coward?

Felix grits his teeth and cuts his hand open in one deliberate movement. The blood gushes freely, the cut deep and painful. It will keep him from training for a while even if healed properly, or rather it would if he was planning on staying here, _which he isn’t._

The dark magic tomes were excruciatingly clear, that for any spell of this magnitude, an equal blood sacrifice must be made. Byleth had offered her own, but Felix had refused. He’s regretting his pride getting in the way a little now, feeling more than a bit hazy as blood keeps flowing and flowing.

He ignores it and sets to work, using his blood to draw the magic circle on the ground. The moonlight reflects on the drying blood, guiding Felix on the path towards home, towards salvation.

To her credit, Byleth does not ask him again if he is ready to go through with the ritual. She puts a hand on his shoulder, and waits for him to start the incantation. Truthfully, Felix doesn’t know what he is saying, and he didn't bother asking Byleth if she does. He repeats the words she taught him, one by one, excruciatingly slow. 

When he is done, nothing happens for a moment that almost seems to last forever. And then suddenly, like boiling lava, the blood on the floor starts to blacken. It comes alive, but that’s not the only thing that happens. Fire rushes through his veins, scorching him from the inside..

He moans in pain, the metallic tang of blood caught on the back of his tongue. He stumbles, quickly losing grip on reality. His vision swims and unnatural colors shift in and out of focus, each one more dark and alluring that the other. Felix would marvel at them, if he wasn’t in so much pain. 

_This is the end,_ Felix thinks. And then the world turns to black.

-

-

-

> Felix can’t see or feel anything. His fingers grasp in the darkness for something to hold on to. He is surrounded by a great nothing, and all he can hear is a familiar voice. It’s too far away. He can’t quite make out the words no matter how hard he tries.
> 
> Slowly, the darkness around him takes shape, and that familiar dark green throne stands in the middle. But Felix doesn't have a body, doesn’t seem to exist at all. All he can see, from the distance, is a woman sitting on top of it, talking to someone. He blinks, or would have if he had eyes. The second figure confuses him: it almost looks like himself.
> 
> He tries to open his mouth and say something, but he’s just a ghost, a specter. He wouldn’t be able to talk even if he knew what to say.
> 
> Then, the sound too fizzles out with a blinding flash of white light, and Felix knows no more.

-

-

-

When he comes to, the moon has a slightly red hue over it. Felix bolts up, his hand on his sword, frantically looking for answers. _Did it work?_

The moment his hands find the hilt of his blade, he knows. The leather bindings of the Wo Dao are slowly becoming more familiar, and Felix would recognize such a well made sword with his eyes closed.

He holds the sword up, looks at his own reflection. A stranger’s face that belongs to himself stares back at him. He looks young, unscarred and worst of al— 

Felix throws the Wo Dao on the ground with a cry of frustration. The blade shatters the moment it hits the ground, each shard reflecting his own face back at him. From the look in his eyes to the tilt of his lips, there is no denying it. Felix’s reflection looks _relieved_.

Felix picks up the pieces, feels the steel cut into his skin. His hands are healed now, but he still has blood to bleed. 

“Why.” He throws the first one against the wall. “Isn’t.” The next goes too. “This.” and the rest, shattering into a thousand pieces. “Working!” He howls into the night. Desperate, homeless and yet still feeling so damnably _relieved_ , he falls to his knees. 

There is no answer other than his own voice echoing through the empty tower, taunting him.

_Relieved to still be here_. Along with the anger, the self-loathing and the confusion, he feels it. Small, and barely allowed to exist, yet there all the same.

He punches the wall again, and again, until his knuckles bleed.

“Felix, stop,” Byleth pleads. He didn’t realize she was still here. “You’re hurting yourself.” 

“I just want things to make sense again! Blades, blood and battle, that’s what I’m made of and nothing else!” There is an unmistakable, damning hitch in his voice. “So then… why…?” 

“I wish I knew, Felix,” Byleth says, and slowly pulls him away from the bloody marks he punched into the wall, and guides him to sit on the ground with her. 

Felix slumps against the wall, his breath caught high in his chest. Relief flows through his veins, but an equal amount of panic. But above all, he feels tired, not just in his bones but in his soul.

“Maybe there’s a reason this happened. A reason you’re here,” Byleth says carefully after a long, heavy silence. “Maybe it’s fate.”

“I don’t waste my time on trivialities like fate.” Felix bites back, but instead of angry, it comes out broken. He barely recognizes his own voice. 

“What else can it be? We tried everything.” She gestures weakly towards the moonlit spot where they performed the ritual. Almost nothing remains. If not for the memory of blinding, all-consuming light and pain, it is almost as if nothing happened here at all. He tries to remember what he saw, but the memory is quickly fading along with the remnant phantom pains. Fleeting, floating, gone. Like a dream, slipping through his fingers upon the first light of the morning.

Felix doesn’t like to linger on the past, doesn’t like to pray to cold and unforgiving headstones when there is work to be done. Life is for the living, he told Dimitri.

He blinks. Did he really? The memory of that afternoon, of the few conversations they had before the recapture of Fhirdiad, of the war… they’re distant. Almost as if they happened in a storybook fantasy instead of his loathsome life.

_Maybe I was wrong all this time,_ Felix thinks. It is a frightening thought. 

He slowly draws himself back to his unsteady feet. A killer headache is forming behind his eyes, and all he wants to do is to grab a sword and swing it until he can neither think nor feel.

“Felix,” Byleth’s voice is soft yet commanding. “Do you need a moment?” 

He almost laughs, almost sobs. “I… I don’t know anymore.”

Byleth opens her mouth to speak, but then freezes. Felix hears it a moment later: Footsteps. The clank of iron, a tell-tale footfall of a knight. 

The Goddess Tower. The full moon. Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. He completely forgot about that childish myth about promises and true love. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he does know what he _doesn’t_ want, and that is bearing witness to some secret tryst on this holy ground between knights.

“Felix?” A familiar voice calls his name, and Felix’s traitorous heart jumps. “What are you doing here?”

It’s Dimitri. _Of course_ it is Dimitri. 

“I… Nothing,” Felix hesitates, awkwardly crossing his arms in front of his chest. Byleth is nowhere to be seen, as quick to disappear into thin air as she always has been. “I just wanted some peace and quiet. The party was so loud, I needed a little respite,” he lies.

Dimitri eyes him strangely before stepping closer. He looks quite handsome in his formal attire. The last time, Dimitri didn’t wear anything special for the ball, right? He doesn’t know for sure anymore. It’s all a blur after the tragedy and betrayal that happened mere days afterward. 

( _Did it really? Or was it all just a fever dream?_ A dark voice in the back of his mind whispers, sounding far too reasonable for comfort.) 

Felix closes his eyes. “Why are you here?” he asks tersely. “Don’t tell me you came here for the legend?” 

“Wha- no!” Dimitri’s eyes go wide, but even in the dim light of the moon, Felix can see the red that blossoms on his cheeks. “I came looking for you. You disappeared with Glenn, but he returned alone.” 

_Glenn_. The smell of plate armor, sweat and daffodils. The smell of burning. Felix feels so tired. “I already told you. I don’t like such large gatherings.” 

Dimitri takes another step forward. He stops whatever he was going to say when he catches a glimpse of Felix’s hands. “You’re bleeding! What happened?” He exclaims, and takes Felix’s hands into his own, thumbing the sore knuckles gently.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Felix says, realizing how unconvincing it sounds. “… An accident. Don’t worry about it.” 

Dimitri does not listen. He coaxes Felix to his hands and with far more care than Felix would have ever thought him capable of, starts cleaning the dirt out from his wounds. “This doesn’t look like an accident to me.” 

“Dimitri,” Felix warns him, his voice low. “Don’t push. Not tonight.” 

Dimitri sighs, looking as desperate as Felix feels. “Then when? 

Felix stiffens. That’s the crux of their problem isn’t it? He looks at Dimitri, both his eyes intact, full of worry and — dare he say it — love. A frightening devotion for Felix and Felix alone. 

His heart skips a beat, painfully. How often had Felix yearned for exactly this? How many nights had he tossed and turned in his bed, too afraid to even imagine a world in which he could have what Dimitri is offering freely to him?

_Think about what you want,_ Glenn had said. 

_It is okay to be happy,_ the professor told him.

For once, he listens to them. Felix closes his eyes and lets the lid come off his tightly contained feelings, to just be. To feel the wind in his hair, the cold underneath his feet, and the tantalizing heat of Dimitri’s fingers caressing his own.

_Like a lover,_ Felix realizes with deafening clarity. It is like the entire world shifts, like every little puzzle piece falls into place. And just like that Felix knows exactly what he wants. 

“Tomorrow,” Felix promises. He loops his tired arms around Dimitri’s shoulders, rests his entire weight against him and leans up close, his words a soft breath against Dimitri’s lips. “Take me to bed first, I’m cold. When the morning comes, and every moment after, I’m all yours.” 

Dimitri’s smile is as blinding as it is beautiful, and suddenly it is so very easy to forget everything that came before this moment. He allows himself to be carried, to be kissed, to be loved. And to love in return as well. 

_It doesn’t matter if this place is real or not,_ Felix thinks when Dimitri pushes him into the mattress later that night. _Nothing matters at all, as long as I can have this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write! I know I have a weird sense of humor, but the conversation between Felix and Glenn was hilarious to me. But also a little bit heartbreaking. I guess that's the tone of the fic: suffering, but fun! I have a big weakness for jealous!Dimitri as well as the White Heron Cup, so this chapter was a tad longer than it strictly needed to be. Granted, that might as well be the name of the fic. I'm very curious what you thought of this chapter, and which scene was your favorite!
> 
> Thank you all for your kind comments for the previous chapter! My recovery is going slower than I would have liked it, but it is what it is.


	6. a bright white lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh snow, denial and a duel for the ages (but nothing is quite that simple)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by Russo and Arithra! Thank you for your love and guidance.

Guardian Moon brings a new year, and along with it a fresh pack of snow. Felix spends his days studying for his Swordmaster certification. He succeeds without any effort on his first attempt and immediately sets his sight on the Mortal Savant certification. 

They celebrate Ingrid’s eighteenth birthday in Galatea. With Lambert on the throne and his father by his side, the Kingdom is relatively stable, and the Archbishop grants them leave to travel to Ingrid’s home for the occasion. The trek to Castle Galatea is a sobering one. The fields are bare and barren, and when he arrives at the castle with Sylvain, Dimitri and Dorothea, it is just as frugally decorated as Felix remembers it. Ingrid eats nothing but scraps during her own birthday banquet, and he doesn’t see her father eat at all. 

_They should have brought food,_ he curses himself under his breath for not thinking about it before. But the Galatea family has always been as prideful as they are principled, and one look at Ingrid’s face tells him that they wouldn’t have accepted any food he would have brought anyway. 

“Too bad your brother could not make it,” Ingrid’s father says to him slightly before midnight, when they are retired in the sitting room. His cheeks are a little rosy from drinking, which Felix figures he probably doesn’t do often. There is a single casket of wine in between them, a rare vintage from the year of Ingrid’s birth that he apparently held on to until she came of age.

Felix doesn’t drink, although it’s not because he is the only remaining minor in the room. The last vineyard in Galatea territory stopped producing enough grapes to make wine before his eighth birthday. He remembers the engagement between Glenn and Ingrid was arranged the next summer. 

Ingrid’s father takes his silence for agreement. “Although I suppose we will see him more often soon, when you graduate and get married,” he says to his daughter. 

Felix nods politely, or something that can pass for it. He doesn’t listen to Ingrid’s father, and instead watches Ingrid like a hawk. She seems happy to be home and see her family, although there is a tinge of sadness in her eyes too.

Glenn said he never gave much thought to their engagement. But Felix has fought and bled together with Ingrid. They’ve known each other for decades, and just looking at her, Felix can easily tell that she has. 

He inches towards her, under the guise of congratulating her. “Have you talked to Byleth?” he mutters under his breath. Sylvain, Dorothea and Dimitri are too tipsy to hear them anyway, but he knows they are not the ones Ingrid would worry about overhearing them. “Or at least to Glenn?”

Ingrid shakes her head slightly from side to side, so subtle that it could be mistaken for a casual gesture. 

“Why not?” Felix hisses back, hiding his mouth behind a glass of water.

“I have a duty here,” she repeats stubbornly, but doesn’t turn to look at him. 

Felix grips his glass almost hard enough to crack it. “You’re making a mistake.” 

She looks at him, a sad smile on her face, and lifts the glass of wine to her lips. She doesn’t deny his words.

Felix opens his mouth to say something — anything! — to wipe that damned resigned look of her face that has no place being there in the first place. Not on Ingrid’s face, who, in another life, would have slapped him for suggesting how she should live her life. But the words don’t come. 

_It was just a dream,_ Felix chants over and over in his mind. He downs his drink like it’s nothing, and abruptly gets up from his chair.

“I’m tired. We have a long road ahead of us tomorrow. Don’t stay up too long,” he says brusquely and doesn’t wait around long enough to see the sad look on Ingrid’s face. She doesn’t holler after him to mind his manners, and isn’t that what he always wanted? To be left alone?

He doesn’t sleep a wink that night, but it’s fine. Everything is _fine_.

* * *

Jeralt makes him dance on Saint Seiros day in front of the entire monastery in exchange for a new sword. It’s a conservative dance, and the movements feel a bit awkward. Unlike typical Faerghan dances, the religious dances of the Church of Seiros almost feel as if the dancer should be able leap into the sky and soar. Felix’s last attempt to fly on the back of pegasus at age ten ended with a broken arm, and he never dared to try again. He finishes the dance on his knees, his arms high above his head like wings, greeting the Goddess above. 

The white clouds above him move slowly, but, before the end of the festival, the sky is dark. A snowstorm is coming. He allows his eyes to flutter over Edelgard, over her brown hair and her calculated glance. He can’t tell what she is thinking, doesn’t know what she is plotting. Hubert stands behind her, looking less than impressed by the ceremony, but not murderously so. 

The audience’s applause pulls him out of his thoughts, and he quickly bows, a little stiff. Edelgard and Hubert clap too, politely. They’re not acting anything out of the ordinary. He remembers Byleth’s words: _“Edelgard is just a student. She’s not even the heir to the Adrestian throne. You would do well not to accuse her of treachery without any proof.”_

Proof? Felix looks away, and quickly gets back to his seat in the back until he has to perform again. He has no proof. Nothing but a lifetime worth of nightmares. He looks at Edelgard one last time, smiling about something Dorothea said. 

The ceremony goes off without a hitch, because of course, why would it not? Everything is _fine_. 

Dimitri spirits him away to an abandoned part of the cathedral as soon as the ceremony ends and Felix comes down from the stage. 

“What’s wrong, my dear?” 

“Nothing,” he sneers back. “Everything is _fine_.”

Dimitri looks at him, unimpressed. “Are you certain?”

Felix rolls his eyes and steals Dimitri’s cloak. His dancer’s outfit isn’t exactly made for the cold weather. He steals a kiss too because he can. “Yes,” he says, enjoying the way Dimitri’s eyes glaze over for a second like he does every time Felix initiates any romantic contact between the two of them.

“And you would tell me if it wasn’t?” Dimitri asks, but his hands are already on Felix’s waist, itching to hold him closer. 

Felix doesn’t answer, and instead dives in for another kiss. He swallows any protests Dimitri makes until they both forget all about the future that may or may not come to pass. Dimitri’s body is warm against his own, and the open-mouthed kisses he leaves against the place where his shoulder meets his neck have him gasping as if he has just fought a five-year-war in the span of a second. 

The light of the slowly setting sun paints Dimitri in a thousand warm shades. He is beautiful, and, for a moment, Felix can almost forget what he could look like five years from now, broken and battered even if that uneasy feeling in his stomach never quite fades away. For a moment, Felix can truly believe that everything is just _fine_. 

* * *

Guardian moon passes quickly, and Felix spends his days doing anything _but_ studying for his Mortal Savant exam. Despite the fact that he already passed it once in his dream, he fails. Jeralt tells him not to worry about it since he is already leagues ahead of the rest of the class, but Felix is seething on the inside regardless. It’s not about them, it never was. 

He’s turning soft. What use is a sword if it is no longer sharp? What is he worth if he can’t even master this simple thing? 

He talks to Annette in an effort to improve his spell list, but learning anything but thunder magic is a pain, no matter his aptitude for Reason. 

“I don’t understand how you can have such an advanced grasp on Reason, despite the fact that I’ve never seen you practise it before!” Annette wonders out loud one afternoon while they are holed up together in the library. The frustration in her voice is second to the genuine wonder. 

Felix doesn’t meet her eyes. “I can only cast Thunder and Thoron.” 

Annette is not convinced. “But you can cast them well!” She says, stars in her eyes. “Your control is sublime. I’ve studied at the school of sorcery you know, but I know few people who can control lightning as well as you can at your age. Can’t you teach me?” 

Her expectant, excited smile almost makes him agree. But then a vision of a slightly older woman flashes before his mind’s eye, ginger hair barely aflutter while she perfectly controls a tornado around her from the eye of the storm.

“You’re the teacher here, not me,” he says quickly, and banishes the image from his mind. “It’s just a fluke, probably.” 

“A fluke?” Annette eyes him dubiously.

“A fluke.” Felix says between gritted teeth, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. 

Annette flinches, and Felix realizes that maybe he has gone a bit overboard. An apology is on his lips, but he doesn’t know how to say it, not to her. With her, he never needed to: she could read him like a book, perhaps even better than he could himself. 

But that was then, in that world of his own making. _That_ Annette wasn’t real. _This_ Annette looks at him awkwardly, and doesn’t dare to say anything after that which is not beneficial for their study session at all. It’s fine. They were never close, were they? It was only a dream, never real, so the pain he feels when she cancels their next study session isn’t real either.

Everything is _fine_. 

* * *

Instead of being upset that Felix wants to spend less time warming his bed and more time honing his skill with the blade, Dimitri eagerly decides to brush up on his own sword skill as well. It’s an exercise in futility, but Felix doesn’t say it. Dimitri is the future king of Faerghus, and like his ancestors before him, he will wield Areadbhar. He can almost picture him, five years from now, his hair tied back and a tired smile on his face while he holds the lance that once belonged to his late father like it is— 

Felix banishes the image from his mind and instead stares at Dimitri — two eyes intact and not so freakishly tall, thank the goddess — until the image of him is burned into his mind. 

“What’s wrong, Felix?” Dimitri asks again, his blonde hair whipping around in the cold wind.

Felix scoffs, and quickly looks away. “Nothing. Prepare yourself.” He doesn’t give him more than a moment, and after a short bow he unsheathes his sword, launching himself at Dimitri with all of his might.

“Your diligence is truly something to behold, my love,” Dimitri comments when they cross blades, his breath making little clouds in the cold air. Dimitri breaks his blades too easily, and Felix can easily beat him when he uses a sword. But that’s not what this is about: it’s about not getting hit at all. Felix can hit Dimitri eight times, but a single strike backed with Dimitri’s strength would kill him, if he truly wanted to.

He doesn’t. Dimitri goes down easily with a smile on his face as he falls into the fresh snow. Around them the wind howls, piling up snow in drifts. 

It had been his idea to go into the woods surrounding the mountains of Garreg Mach to get some training in an environment more like Faerghus, but once they found a suitable clearing after a two-hour trip, it is Dimitri who is the most excited to be rolling in the snow like a child again, despite his initial protests.

Felix sighs deeply. “Don’t humor me. Go all out, or it makes no sense to practise.” Few people are willing to fight with him nowadays so it isn’t as if he has a lot of choice in sparring partners, especially now that many of the knights are suspiciously absent this month. His favorite opponent, Byleth, is gone too. All Jeralt had to say on the matter was that there was something in Adrestia that required the help of the church.

Felix puts it out of his mind, and focuses back on the task at hand: getting Dimitri to take this seriously. He offers him his hand to pull him to his feet. “Let’s go another round.”

Dimitri seems far more interested in other things, and instead of getting up, he pulls Felix down into the snow with him. Felix manages to catch himself and lands gracefully, but he can’t save his clothes or hair from getting snow all over it. 

“Are you happy now?” He mutters grumpily, and throws some fresh snow into Dimitri’s face for good measure.

Dimitri smiles, snowflakes catching in his lashes, his blue eyes twinkling in delight. “Very.”

“If we catch pneumonia and die, I will kill you,” Felix growls back, but allows himself to be pushed into the cold snow with only minimal protest.

Dimitri’s hands wandering all over his body are warm despite the freezing weather. “Well then, let us make the best of our last moments together,” he whispers — his eyes dark — and leans in.

The sun is quickly starting to set, coloring the white winter landscape around them a beautiful canvas of red and yellow. It reminds him of home, of Castle Fraldarius covered in a thick blanket of white, of statues of Kyphon and Loog peeking out from under white caps. He can see their every footstep in the unblemished snow: save for some wildlife, they are truly alone. Felix can’t remember the last time that happened, and he felt happy about it.

Dimitri kisses him slowly, taking his time. His lips feel cold and wet against his own, but the chill that goes down his spine has nothing to do with the cold. For a few moments, the world dissolves around them, and all Felix can do is be in the moment. To feel Dimitri’s body on top of his own, warm and protective. He groans in delight when Dimitri softly kisses down his neck, scraping his teeth gently over his jugular, sucking a deep mark just underneath the line of his collar.

“Stop it, you insatiable Boar,” Felix pants, but doesn’t take his hand away from underneath Dimitri’s shirt.

Dimitri flashes him a daring smile, his pupils blown wide. “If all you wanted to do was practise, then why did we come all the way here?”

“Because I prefer the quiet, and ever since your birthday as well as the White Heron Cup— ” and Remire, but they didn’t speak about that, especially not in the middle of a makeout session. “-- I can hardly finish a single kata before someone interrupts us.”

“Of course your intentions were as pure as snow,” Dimitri whispers, his words almost lost in the winds, but the grin on his face more telling than a thousand words.

“Don’t mock me.”

“I would _never_.” He presses another kiss against his lips, hungrier than before. “But now that we are conveniently alone, why not take advantage? As you said, there have been little opportunities to spend time together.”

Felix looks away. Every passing day, more letters arrive for Dimitri. For Felix too, but unless someone, most often Ingrid, forces him to open them, he just throws them under his bed. He’s turning eighteen soon. In the other world — No, in his fever dream, the one he is finally putting to rest — his duties increased similarly once Glenn died and he became the heir of Fraldarius. His eighteenth birthday back then passed in a haze of war and bloodshed, but here, in the real world? 

The world isn’t waiting for them to graduate, to finish growing up. The world keeps turning, ever moving forward. And not even Dimitri’s lips can distract him from it for long.

Dimitri notices that his heart isn’t in it before too long. “What is it, my Felix?” He asks when he pulls away, his voice guarded.

“It’s nothing.”

“ _Felix_ ,” Dimitri says, his voice low and authoritative.

Felix looks away and bites his lips. “What if this doesn’t last? What if this was our last glimpse of winter, before….” he wonders out loud. 

Dimitri kisses his cold, snow-covered brow. “It isn’t.”

He’s probably right, Felix’s mind says. But that doesn’t take away the uncomfortable weight that has been sitting in his stomach for weeks. He had thought that it would go away once he had accepted that this wasn’t a dream, but it never truly faded. 

“But what if it is?” He asks, pushing at Dimitri’s shoulders until he rolls off him, and they’re lying next to each other in the snow. “What if this is the last moment before some unimaginable catastrophe strikes?”

For a moment, Dimitri says nothing, and Felix is worried that his words are lost in the cold air. He’s about to repeat himself when Dimitri finally speaks, his voice careful and deceptively even. “You’re still thinking about Remire?”

Felix nods, fisting his hand in the cold snow. “Nothing has been solved. No culprit discovered or apprehended, and yet people act like nothing happened at all. I can’t bury my head in the sand like that,” He says, and all the frustration he has been so carefully suppressing the past month and a half burst to the surface like they were never gone at all. “And it’s not just Remire. I’m thinking about Adrestia, too. Suddenly all the knights are gone in order to solve some dispute, yet none of us are any wiser?” 

“I wondered that too, so I asked Edelgard. She doesn’t know anything either, but she has been writing to her older siblings. As soon as she tells me anything, you will be the first to know,” Dimitri promises him, and Felix blinks. He hadn’t considered that Edelgard might know more, and would actually be of use. What she did and everything she stood for in his dreamworld, made it hard to think of her without a fresh wave of hatred spiking through his gut. It hadn’t truly lessened, he had just gotten better at hiding it.

“Regardless, our fathers have got it covered. If not them, the church does. No need to worry,” Dimitri adds when he sees that Felix is not convinced. 

Felix bites his tongue. Duscur never happened, he reminds himself. It’s something he has to do so often, it has become almost like a prayer to him.

“Don’t worry, my Felix.” Dimitri pulls Felix on top of him, and gently wipes a few melting snowflakes from his hair. “Whatever is going on, we will face it. Together. Like Kyphon and Loog.”

“Can’t we just be…. us?” He hesitates. Even after all the time he has recently spent in Dimitri’s lap and in his bed, it doesn’t get any easier to express the way his heart beats furiously, frighteningly fast in his chest. The way he still wakes up at night, silently screaming until he finds Dimitri’s sleeping body sprawled next to him. 

Words have never come easy for him. So instead he leans forward, cups Dimitri’s face gently and presses their foreheads together. “I don’t want to lose this,” he confesses, his foggy breath mingling with Dimitri’s.

“Neither do I,” Dimitri whispers back, sounding like they are ten again, hidden under the covers of Dimitri’s too large bed in Castle Fhirdiad, dreaming about their future together. “Promise me to never part from my side, Felix. War or worse, I could survive. But losing you?”

In the distance, lightning crackles. A shadow falls over Dimitri’s face, and for a second Felix doesn’t see his eighteen-year-old lover lying in the snow, but the Mad Prince from his not-memories, speaking to his dead. He shudders. 

“You’d find a way,” Felix says quickly. “You have to. You’re the future King.”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I can’t imagine a life without you,” he says solemnly, and presses a kiss on the top of Felix’s hand, then one more, on his ring finger.

Felix squeezes his eyes shut, and tries very hard not to think of five years in which Dimitri was dead. _Five years that never happened at all,_ he reminds himself.

When he opens his eyes again, ready to lose himself in Dimitri’s lips, the Prince is instead staring at him. Felix can read him better than anyone else, but sometimes he gets like this: enigmatic and quiet, his eyes searching and his mind racing a mile a minute. 

Bad things happen when Dimitri gets caught up in his own mind. It has proven itself prone to playing tricks on him. But Felix doesn’t know how to talk him out of it, never has. 

“I’m getting cold,” He says instead, gets up and gathers his sword. He’s not a coward, Felix reminds himself. This is just a strategic retreat. “Let’s…. let’s not continue this here. The weather is changing rapidly, if we’re fast, we might make it back to the monastery before the storm.”

Dimitri stops him before he can make it to their horses. “You know better than to bet against a snowstorm, Felix,” he reminds him, and points to the dark clouds that are quickly gathering above them. A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder follow each other, faster than just minutes ago. The storm is approaching at an alarming pace, and despite their station, they were raised to fear and respect nature like any god fearing inhabitant of Faerghus. 

Felix curses under his breath. DamnDimitri, and his distracting lips! 

Dimitri pulls a map from his saddlebag. They’re off the main road, but not by more than a few miles. “We passed a chapel on the way here. It looked ancient, but sturdy enough to provide us shelter for the night. And if the doors are locked, well... rusted hinges mean nothing to me.”

“You truly are a brute,” Felix says, and enjoys the way Dimitri’s cheeks bloom a bright red, as if it were a compliment. “Let’s go then. Glenn would never stop laughing if he heard we caught a cold this far south.”

Dimitri nods, and quickly gets back up on his horse. Between them, Dimitri is the better rider. But not even Dimitri can keep their horses from being nervous as the storm quickly whips to life around them, with only flashes of lightning lighting the narrow, twisted path back up the mountains surrounding Garreg Mach.

They only barely manage to find the abandoned chapel — a small church, really — before it starts to snow in earnest. Dimitri makes good on his promise and lifts the door off its hinges. 

In the distance thunder rumbles as Felix sets foot into the ruins. In many ways, it isn’t anything strange, just an old church, long forgotten. If not for the proximity to Garreg Mach, it wouldn’t have been that out of place. Or - Felix thinks as he magically lights a torch - if not for the magical markings that crisscrossed the surfaces, gouged so deep that their edges looked sharp enough to cut. When Felix touches them, he feels the quiet buzz of magic ripple underneath his fingers. He pulls his hand away as if burned. They’re not ancient at all: they’re recent. 

Breathing deeply, he tucks his hands into his pockets and slowly continues on, placing his feet carefully and avoiding the ominous stones. Every time he steps on one, or comes to close, they light up a little brighter.

Dimitri never had any aptitude for magic at all, and unlike Felix, he didn’t get better with practise either. He squints at the markings, unable to feel the buzz of the potent magic that Felix feels in his bones, so unlike anything he has ever felt before. 

(Except, maybe in his dream, he remembers something like this. But that wasn’t real.)

They enter the main room of the chapel, a place of worship. Or perhaps it once was, at least. The statues of the saints have been desecrated, carved over with words Felix cannot read. When he comes too close to the altar, he sees something that, a long time ago, might have been blood once. Only someone with intimate knowledge of just how tough it is to get dried blood out of cloth once it truly settles, would recognize the stains. Carefully, with Dimitri tucked behind him, Felix raises his hand directly above the crude marking on the altar, concentrates, and lets down his walls enough to sense the magic. It’s unlike anything he remembers, and yet hauntingly familiar. Most black magic is elemental. The call of the wind; the touch of frost; his own white-hot electricity. But this? This feels nothing like that. It feels like something deeper, even more primal. It’s a desire, or perhaps more accurately, a primordial feeling objectified: absolute chaos. He feels the spark underneath his skin, begging to be released. It makes him feel alive and reckless, unhinged. Something ancient in his blood is begging to be unleashed, unbound. . 

“What is this place…?” Dimitri asks, rubbing his wrist like he too is feeling the effects. Felix has no answer for him.

There is something familiar about the glyphs, slowly glowing in an ominous neon blue glow, but he can’t pinpoint it. This feeling… he has felt it before, a long time ago or in the future. 

He shakes his head, and clamps down his walls, not allowing a drop of magic to leak out. As soon as he does, the markings on the ground become quieter, and slowly fade away.

“I don’t like this place,” Felix says out loud. His words echo through the hollow chapel, mocking him.

Dimitri nods. “Neither do I. We should report this once we return to the monastery.”

“People will ask what we were up to in the first place.”

“I’m sure we can make up a believable story, my dearest,” Dimitri says with a sad smile, reaching out to tuck a strand of Felix’s hair behind his ear. “But for now, we should rest. Once the snowstorm dies down, we need to return as fast as possible.”

The chapel has a second floor, if what remains of it can be called that. Normally Felix would find it unwise to make himself at home on the brittle beams, in between the holes in the floor, but it’s better than on top of the faintly glowing magical markings. 

Their horses neigh in the hallway below, walking around uncomfortably. They too are unsettled, perhaps frightened by something neither of them can pick up.

“Are you cold?” Dimitri asks, lighting one of the candles he found. 

Felix shakes his head. He’s still feeling strangely drained from when the magic touched his own. “Just a little tired.”

Dimitri smiles, and gets to work. He finds salvageable remains of wooden benches and builds a small campfire. There are enough holes in the windows that the smoke disappears into the cold wind that blows inside. It’s not comfortable in any way, but when Dimitri lies them down on top of his makeshift nest of curtains and cloaks, it’s not the worst place he has ever spent the night.

Felix buries his face into Dimitri’s chest and counts his every breath, memorizes every heartbeat. Dimitri sighs contently, and kisses the crown of his head reverently, muttering a prayer underneath his breath. It’s not the worst place either of them has ever slept, not by far. 

* * *

Unsurprisingly, they get in trouble for sneaking out during a snowstorm: grounded for two months. Their sentence is only momentarily lifted when they tell Jeralt of the strange chapel. He follows them out into the wild the next free weekend. Seteth comes along too, to Felix’s surprise.

But when they return to the chapel, it is spotless. The glyphs are gone, the broken benches have been returned to their proper place and there isn’t even a trace of charred wood from their campfire left. It’s _too_ clean. If not for the fact that the place is still at the risk of falling apart at any moment and the desecrated statues of Saint Cethleann, it would almost as if the chapel was regularly used.

“Are you certain it was this place?” Jeralt asks, looking at him suspiciously. Ever since Remire his gaze always lingers on Felix and it annoys him greatly.

But now is not the time. Felix empties his mind, closes his eyes and carefully lowers his magical walls. He feels a thunderstorm in the distance, far away, but that’s all. No chaos. No desire for release. Nothing except an ancient hum of faith magic.

“I’m certain this was the place,” Dimitri says, eyeing the place the second floor warily. “Perhaps someone came here recently?”

Seteth makes a thoughtful sound from the back of the chapel, drawing Felix’s attention. He’s holding a small wooden statue of what might have been the Saint Cethleann, although it is hard to tell. Someone took an axe to it, carving out most of the face and half of her dress. Her crest is cut in four by two deep gashes. 

“A fluke,” Seteth declares, and puts the statue back with care. “Let us return to the monastery.” 

Felix takes note of his trembling hands, the way his eyes are blown wide. _Something is wrong,_ he realizes. 

He opens his mouth to ask about it, but then Seteth looks his way. They have never spoken, and yet they have, in that dream world. An odd man, but a bright one, Felix remembers. He never lost his composure, safe for that time Flayn was kidnapped. Felix remembers the way he looked back then. The same anxiety lurks behind his eyes now, mingled with a very clear message: _What do you know?_

Felix closes his mouth, and turns his back to Seteth. There is enough suspicion on him already.

“A fluke,” Dimitri replies with a carefully neutral voice. “That must be it then.” 

Jeralt nods along, but Felix doesn’t need to look his way to know that Dimitri doesn’t believe it either. His hand, touching the small of his back for a second, tells him to wait. 

“Fine,” Felix bristles. “Let’s go then. Another snowstorm is approaching.” 

Jeralt agrees too readily, which is all the confirmation Felix needs that they have accidentally wandered into a terrible secret, bigger and older than either of them. Felix bites his lip, and forces himself to forget about it. He’s becoming good at that, recently. 

* * *

Winters at Garreg Mach are peaceful and warm, compared to frigid Faerghus. Before the end of Pegasus Moon, the snow melts away and the first snowdrop flowers bloom.

Ingrid publicly scolds him for ‘leading His Highness astray’, _whatever that means_ , but Dimitri’s apology is so abundant and heartfelt that it embaresses all of them to the point that they collectively decide to just pretend it never happened and have dinner instead.

“Graduation is coming up,” Ashe remarks halfway through. 

“Ashe, please,” Sylvain groans loudly. “I don’t want to think about that yet.” 

He’s not the only one. Ingrid stops devouring her chickenwing in the middle of a bite, and Dimitri’s grip on his goblet becomes dangerously tight. 

“We still have some months to go before that,” Dimitri says, a polite smile plastered on his face that is so fake that Felix almost retches. He’s right though: They’re halfway through the month and exams are at the end of the next month, Lone Moon. 

Felix looks up at the ceiling, wooden beams supporting the roof like they have done since long before he was born. They probably will continue doing so long after he has died, Major Crest or not. It is strange to think that almost a full year has passed since he entered the Academy. He could swear it felt like six years instead. 

Ashe blinks owlishly. “Have you not started studying yet?” Everyone shakes their head with varying degrees of enthusiasm, except Felix because he is barely paying attention to the conversation in the first place. “Not even you Felix?” 

Felix, who has rarely ever studied more for an theoretical exam than the night before, looks at Ashe with a raised eyebrow. “No. Why would I?” 

Ashe looks away. “Oh, nothing.” He says, a small blush dusting his cheeks. He scratches the side of his face awkwardly for a moment before continuing. “It’s just… you remind me of a knight in a book I read recently. And I was wondering if you were taking any of the certifications.” 

Felix doesn’t dread the future, real or imagined, but he’s getting very sick of people assuming what he wants to do with his life. “I’m not a knight,” he grits out. “And I never will be. Ask Ingrid, it’s her dream. She’s read all the books too, no matter how childish.” 

“ _Felix_.” Ingrid looks positively murderous. 

Before she gets a chance to maim him, Ashe jumps up happily. “Oh, I didn’t know!” His smile is so radiant Felix has to look away. “Have you read the story of the Radiant Knight and the Crimson Princess? I recently got my hands on a copy through an old friend of mine, Yuri.” 

Sylvain laughs, and theatrically drapes an arm around Ingrid’s shoulders. “Our Ingrid doesn’t have to study knightly virtues, Ashe. She’s got them all down already.” He says heartily, and then holds Felix’s gaze for a second. 

_“Sylvain!”_ Ingrid exclaims, looking scandalized. 

“What? It’s true. If you wanted, you could easily pass the Paladin certification,” Sylvain continues innocently, but Felix knows exactly what he is doing.

Ingrid looks cross, a strange combination between uncomfortable and eager. Trapped, Felix realizes, between what she wants and what she must. He looks at Sylvain, the pleasant smile on his face as artificial as Felix has ever seen it. He doesn’t have to look at Dimitri to know he feels the same thing: the deathgrip he has on Felix’s hand under the table tells him more than enough.

He barks a laugh, bitter. 

“What’s wrong, Felix?” Dimitri asks for what sounds like the thousandths time, only this time there is something odd to his voice that doesn’t sit well with the buzzing in Felix’s head. 

“Look at us,” he spits out, the smile on his face full of teeth. “Sitting here like it’s our last meal. We’re all pathetic.” 

Even in this perfect world he lives in, they’re all trapped. He’d never thought he’d say it, but at least in his dream world their future wasn’t set in stone. It sucked, having to fight every day to survive, but at least the path they carved out was one of their own. 

“Felix!” Ingrid admonishes him, but he doesn’t listen.

“If you want to be a knight, then do it already. If you don’t then don’t.” Then, he turns to an equally perplexed Sylvain. “And if you don’t want to become Margrave, then tell your father to stick the Lance of Ruin up his— ” 

“FELIX!” 

Felix takes a deep breath, and then another, but it doesn’t make him feel any more calm. “I’m not going to be a knight. I’m going to carve my own path,” he pledges, as much to himself as to them.

Ashe cocks his head. “Why are you so averse to becoming a knight?” 

“I just am,” Felix says, and bites his lips to keep the rest from spilling out.

His brother is alive, shining armor and all. He and his father are probably on their way to Garreg Mach right now, if they want to arrive in time for his birthday, considering the fact Felix and Dimitri are still grounded. They’re all alive, but they might as well die tomorrow. His own life is perfect, but the future of Faerghus is bleak, because for all that was terrible in his dreamworld, at least the world was changing, for better or for worse. It’s an uneasy realization that makes him feel a little dizzy. 

And of course things only get worse from thereon. “And what about me? What if I am not suited to become King?” Dimitri’s voice is low and quiet, and yet every word he says echoes through the dining hall, through Felix’s head. 

Felix looks at him, perplexed. Surely, he must be joking? But Dimitri isn’t smiling. There are dark circles underneath his eyes that Felix didn’t realize before were there, and his eyes are a little less bright because of it. When a shadow falls over them, Felix for a moment only sees the beast he could have been, or even worse: the one he could become.

But even in the depths of its depravity, Felix followed that beast to hell and back. “You….” He starts saying, but can’t find the words.

A world in which Ingrid doesn’t want to become a knight feels surreal. But a world in which Dimitri doesn’t become king is unthinkable. 

Dimitri continues. “When we were young we stayed up for hours, fantasizing how you would be at my side as my _personal knight_ while I ascended the throne.” Felix gulps, and looks around frantically. Is he really the only one noticing that the way Dimitri says ‘personal knight’ is nothing short of scandalous? “Like Kyphon and Loog, remember?” 

“I… remember,” he says slowly, trying to read Dimitri, but his expression is carefully closed off. 

“But if you no longer wish to be Kyphon, then perhaps I no longer feel suited to be Loog.” 

There is a glint of madness in his eyes, and Felix shivers from head to toe. But he’s not afraid. No, he’s angry. “Must we talk about this now? In front of everyone else?” He hisses under his breath.

“If not now, then when?” Dimitri counters haughtily. “Every time I bring up the future, you brush me off. Your birthday is tomorrow Felix. Ashe is right; we graduate soon. If we don’t talk about it now, then when?” 

“I’m not…” Felix swallows, and then, softly: “I’m not leaving you. Never. So stop looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” Dimitri sneers back, sounding a little delirious in a way that is almost nostalgic. 

Felix feels his heart race and panic seize his voice. “Like…” _Like you’ve already lost me_. _Or worse, like you’ve lost your mind._ But admitting that would be admitting that Felix would know what that looks like. 

The Western Rebellion flashes through his mind, but this time there are no soft confessions, only blood and entrails, and Dimitri’s deranged laughter echoing through the battlefield. 

“Okay, lovebirds, don’t fight in front of a lady, please have some manners!” Sylvain says and physically pushes them apart. Felix didn’t even realize they had gotten that close. It takes another second for the word ‘lovebird’ to fully sink in, and when it does, his entire body stiffens. Dimitri’s eyes widen in a way that is entirely too guilty, and all Felix can quietly think is ‘fuck’. 

Sylvain doesn’t even seem to notice, or if he does, he’s surprisingly tactful in ignoring it. “We have two months left here, might as well make the best of it. How about we go out into town tonight, and celebrate Felix’s last night as a child in style?” 

“No,” Felix says, still looking at Dimitri, as if he could turn into the one-eyed beast of Garreg Mach any moment he takes his eyes off him.

“Why not?

“I have to train,” he says hurriedly, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

Sylvain sighs. “What is more important, Fefe? Your blade, or our friendship?” 

“My— ” his eyes widen, and he suddenly flashes back to the last time they had this conversation. He takes a deep breath. “You know it’s not about that. Glenn will be here any day now, and he promised me a duel.” 

“Ah,” Ingrid says, sounding off. She shrugs Sylvain’s arm off her shoulder reluctantly, which makes no sense at all. 

Sylvain shoots him a dirty glance, but then turns back to Ingrid. He’s mother henning, Felix realizes. Trying to keep them all in line at the cost of his own happiness. 

He stands up quickly, shoves his almost untouched plate to Ingrid as a peace offering and grits his teeth. “I’m sorry.” He turns around and walks off in the direction of the training ground as fast as he can, not wanting to look at their faces. 

It’s a strategic retreat, Felix reminds himself with every step he takes and every swing of his blade. It’s not running away. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward. 

At least, he likes to think so.

-

-

-

> On the night before his birthday, he dreams of an at this point familiar vast emptiness. It’s almost as if a disembodied voice that is both utterly ethereal as well as oddly familiar calls his name and talks to him, but it might also be a trick of his mind or some sort of fluke. 
> 
> He doesn’t search for the throne, so he doesn’t know if anyone is there. But when he wakes up, regret coils in his stomach, stealing his appetite and his peace of mind.

-

-

-

The house of cards falls apart mere days later. Glenn and Rodrigue arrive the weekend after his birthday. Dimitri is by his side when they greet them, the very picture of politeness. Felix can’t be bothered to fake it. 

Seeing his father and brother still feels surreal. The dead are dead, and life is for the living. His father is clearly alive, so Felix doesn’t dwell on the world in which he was not, right up until the point where he does. 

His brother’s hand on his shoulder is warm and heavy, and his sarcastic smile is exactly as Felix remembers it. They’re not ghosts, he reminds himself. He doesn’t believe in ghosts.

“Happy Birthday, squirt,” Glenn says, and squeezes his shoulder once, reminding Felix once again that he is very alive. “Too bad you got grounded, or we could have celebrated in style.” 

“ _Glenn_ ,” Rodrigue warns him but Glenn doesn’t even try to hide his wink, promising him more. Felix doesn’t say anything. He has zero to negative interest in ‘celebrating in style’ anyway, unless that celebration is just a fancy word for a sword tournament.

“Happy birthday Felix, you look well,” his father says, smiling fondly at him before turning to Dimitri. “And you too, Your Highness!” 

Felix nods, but doesn’t say anything. He can hear Dimitri silently dread the use of his title by close friends. “As do you, Rodrigue. And Glenn! We missed you in Galatea last month.”

“Sorry, little prince. I was off on official business,” he says a little awkwardly, his eyes flickering between Dimitri and Felix. 

Felix bites his tongue. _What official business is more important than the birthday of your fiance_? He doesn’t ask, because he knows Glenn won’t tell the truth. Not here, anyway.

Something is off, he realizes within minutes of their arrival. He didn’t think much of it when his father readily proposed to visit him instead of the other way around when he wrote him that they were grounded. But there is something off about his father. He looks unkempt and tired, and Glenn keeps glaring daggers at him.

Officially, his father is here on business for the Kingdom. Felix thought it was a ruse, but within minutes of arriving at the monastery his father disappears into Seteth’s office and doesn’t come out for hours.

There are rumors, of course, there always are. He doesn’t really visit the Abyss anymore, but the last time he was there, it was emptier than usual. The knights are constantly coming and going too, and Byleth has been distant lately. Something is wrong, Felix realizes. Something is about to happen.

He would ask Dimitri if Edelgard or even Hilda know something, but they haven’t talked at all since their little _discussion_ in the dining hall. Claude it is, then. He’ll find Yuri as an absolute last resort, because his favors always come with a price, and Felix doesn’t want to owe that man anything if he can avoid it. 

His mind reeling a mile a minute, he doesn’t bother saying goodbye to Glenn and Dimitri in favor of searching for Claude. 

“Hey, squirt, where are you going?” Glenn challenges him, pulling Felix out of his head. “Or have you suddenly become a coward?” 

“No,” Felix replies instinctively. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Glenn raises a single eyebrow and gestures around him. “Didn’t you write to me that you wanted to spar for your birthday?” 

“Y-yes!” he says a bit too eagerly.

“Let’s go at it then,” Glenn says. He’s wearing his armor, pristine and unburned, a lance in hand. Ready to fight.

Felix blinks. “Right now?” 

“Right now,” Glenn confirms. “Unless you’re suddenly scared of getting your ass kicked.” 

“Glenn, with all due respect— “ Dimitri starts, but Felix cuts him off before he can get past the politeness.

“Alright. Let’s go to the training ground, then,” he says, and immediately leads them there. His brother follows him without complaint, but he can hear Dimitri’s deep, exasperated sigh. He’ll talk to him later, Felix decides.

He can’t stop grinning all the way to the training ground. His brother was — no, _is_ — great with a sword. But his lance technique is what earned him his knighthood at age fifteen. He is a prodigy, and he taught Dimitri, Ingrid and Sylvain, each of them formidable fighters. He has even seen him go toe to toe with King Lambert himself, which is no small feat. 

His heart flutters in his chest. If Glenn is holding his lance, then he isn’t playing around. How long has he waited for this duel? He thinks as he scrambles into a swordmaster’s uniform. It doesn’t really matter what he wears, as long as it’s flexible enough. He takes more care in selecting a sword. Not just any will do after all, not against his brother.

Glenn laughs when Felix steps into the arena. “Ready to lose again, squirt?” 

“Shut up,” he says back, but with a smile on his face. He’s shaking from anticipation, but his blade is steady. He has dreamed of this day, and nothing can ruin it. 

“Ready?” The nun that manages the training grounds calls from the sidelines. Felix doesn’t take his eyes off his brother, and merely nods. “Good. Keep it clean, boys. The monks are too busy to clean up your wounds if you go too far,” her says. 

Felix pays no mind to her and instead bows respectfully to his brother.

“Ready?” Glenn taunts, bowing in return. 

Felix nods and raises his blade high, circling his brother, waiting for him to make the first move. Glenn smirks, and then dives forward.

And that is when it all falls apart. The duel he has dreamed about for as long as he can remember, the one that should have been his true graduation, ends within seconds. It is no hard earned victory either. 

Glenn is fast, but Felix is faster. His brother has years of combat experience under his belt, but the moment he starts moving he stops being the unbeatable phantom from Felix’s memory, and becomes just a soldier for Felix to cut down. Instinct takes over: one moment Glenn is charging at him, and the next he is sprawled out on the ground, Felix’s sword pointed at his throat. 

The world stops turning for a moment. Felix blinks, and the soldier is gone, and his brother is blinking owlishly up at him with a slack jaw. Felix jumps off him as if he struck. 

“A fluke,” Felix says, no, _demands_. 

“Maybe,” Glenn replies with wide eyes. “You’ve gotten faster, little brother. I didn’t expect you to move like that.”

Felix can’t remember how he moved. When it comes to fighting a worthy opponent, he doesn’t have to think about the movements at all anymore, not since he spent day after day fighting a hopeless war. But that never happened. 

(Right?) 

Felix shakes his head, his eyes wild. “A fluke,” he repeats. “Don’t hold back this time.” 

“I won’t make that mistake again,” Glenn promises, and rolls back onto his feet. From the corners of his eyes Felix sees a small crowd gathering, but he couldn’t care less who is watching right now.

Glenn readies his lance and they bow to each other once again. 

“Go!” the nun calls from the sidelines, and this time Felix doesn’t wait for his brother to attack. He dives in, fast as rain and then faster still. Glenn is prepared this time, and he intercepts Felix’s blade and immediately launches a counter attack. 

Felix recognizes the move before Glenn starts moving: it’s one of Dimitri’s favorite counters against sword users, a savage swing with which he uses his superior range against them before they can come close enough to properly strike back. It’s hell to defend against, but Felix is no regular swordsman. 

Eighteen-year-old Felix never could have dodged that hit, but _Felix_ dances out of the way with ease.

He has fought a hopeless war for years with his back against the wall until he was the last man standing. He wrestled with the Boar during the height of his depravity, fought Ferdinand von Aegir to the death on top of that blasted bridge. A thousand knights have fallen before Felix’s sword, and a thousand more will. 

He is Felix Hugo Fraldarius, the last of his name. He is twenty-three-years old and he has been fighting like hell for the past six years. Glenn might be a prodigy, but he isn’t unbeatable. The tragedy of Duscur proved that almost a decade ago. Felix has him on his knees again in seconds, blood dripping from his lips. 

Felix shakes his head, and he is eighteen again. He jumps back to his starting position while letting out a string of curses. It was a dream! Glenn is _alive_! 

“Again,” they say at the same time. Glenn is frowning, but Felix barely registers it. 

Nothing makes sense until they cross blades, because this is what he was made to do. He becomes one with his blade and dances until he wins. 

And he wins, every single time.

After what seems like an eternity, Glenn hangs his head in defeat and drops his lance on the floor. “A true knight knows when he has been bested,” he says, barely audible over the broken chant of _‘no no no no no’_ in Felix’s mind. “And you won fair and square, little brother.” 

“Get up,” Felix demands with a quivering voice. This can’t be it. It _can’t_. 

Glenn sighes, but he doesn’t get up again. He winces when he moves his arm, and Felix barely remembers the audible crack he heard when he hit him there last round. “You won, Felix. Congratulations.” 

“Stop holding back! Get up!” 

“I wasn’t holding back.” 

The world shakes, or maybe it’s just him, because that can’t be true. Glenn always wins — always. From the first time he held a sword, all he wanted was to surpass him. And that’s what drove him to train until his hands bled, until he was nothing but a blade, cutting through. All for this final duel. 

He wanted to beat his brother, yes. But he never wanted it to be this easy. 

“GET THE FUCK UP!” Felix screams and throws his practise sword on the ground, hard enough to break it in two. The Crest of Fraldarius flashes above them ominously. 

“Felix!” Glenn exclaims, but he _still_ won’t get back up to his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you? You won!”

He won. Eighteen-year-old Felix could not have met his twenty-three-year-old brother as an equal. But he’s not eighteen, is he? The world shakes and shatters, but only Felix can feel the tremors and see the breaklines that have been there from the morning he woke up at the infirmary. 

All these years, wasted on training for a duel with a corpse. He barks one, broken laugh. It sounds more like a sob. 

“Felix?” Glenn asks, worry evident in his voice. Or rather, the ghost of Glenn asks, because Glenn is dead, and Felix was an ignorant fool for trying to believe anything else. 

Felix looks around, his eyes frantically wide. People are staring at him, whispering again. It’s like Remire, take two. His head spins, trying to piece one reality together with another.

“This… this isn’t right,” he mutters, grasping his hair and pulling hard. The pain grounds him, but doesn’t wake him up. 

Someone approaches him. It might be Ingrid but it might be the shadow of Dimitri or even the ghost of his brother. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make sense. Hysteria bubbles up in his chest and expands until it steals his breath and he is heaving. 

He slaps the hand away that tries to comfort him. “Leave me alone!” he exclaims, and stumbles out of their reach. 

He’s fast, faster than anyone, and his feet have a will of their own. It doesn’t matter where they take him nor who sees him, because this isn’t real. It’s all a dream, and Felix is getting out _right now._

He finds himself in Byleth’s office and barely manages to close the door behind him before he falls to his knees and throws up all over her carpet. No, not _hers_ , _Jeralt’s_ carpet, the captain of the Knights of Seiros before he was killed _five years ago._

Five _fucking_ years ago. 

He throws up again, shivering from head to toe. The world spins and shakes around him, until suddenly someone raises him up from the ground. Felix fights and claws at him like an animal — all ferocity and no tactics — but whoever carries him is undeterred.

Felix sniffs, and smells the faint smell of sweat and cheese. He doesn’t even smell like the real Dimitri, he realizes. “Let go of me!” he screeches, but Dimitri only holds him tighter until he has him pinned against the floor. 

“Felix, what _the hell is wrong_ with you?” Dimitri asks, his eyes wide in fear. Wait, wait, wait. The Boar? _Afraid_? Of _him_?

Suddenly, Felix is too tired to fight. His entire body goes limp, and he doesn’t even feel humiliated when tears start leaking from the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t feel anything anymore except utter and surreal disbelief.

“This isn’t real.” He mutters, unable to stop shaking. “You aren’t real.” 

“You’re rambling like a madman.” 

“Me? A Madman?” Felix laughs, or sobs, It’s all the same. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I have finally lost it, and this is all just a fabrication of my own mind. Was this what it was like when you went insane? Slowly, slowly, and then all at once?”

Dimitri’s grip on him tightens. “Felix?” 

He still has two eyes, Felix suddenly realizes. “I’m not _your_ Felix!” He exclaims, his voice sounding high and nothing like his own. “I’m not eighteen, and neither are you. Glenn, my father, everyone, they’re all dead.” He barely registers the way Dimitri’s eyes widen. “None of this is real. You are not _my Dimitri,_ do you hear me? I’m not your Felix either.” 

“Y-you’re not making any sense,” Dimitri stammers out.

Felix giggles madly and he doesn’t even know why. There is nothing funny at all about this . “Nothing makes sense! I thought I had it figured out, you know? When I woke up in this…. whatever this is. The afterlife, probably. I thought the Eternal Flames would be hotter, but perhaps I was wrong. There is no crueler torture than this.” 

He wiggles a hand free from Dimitri's grasp and cups his cheek instead. He feels real, and when he leans in to kiss him, his lips feel warm and plump. His ghosts are made of flesh and blood, it seems.

The kiss is nothing but a peck on the lips because Dimitri wrestles him down immediately. “Tell me why I am not real.” He sounds calm, authoritative. Like the king Felix saw a glimpse off when they fought to retake Fhirdiad, when he died. “Tell me what’s wrong with you, Felix. I beg you, just talk to me!”

Felix folds to his will without thinking. “I’m not from this world. I’m twenty-three years old and I’m the last of my family, not counting my maternal uncle. My father died last month and my brother last decade. We’re in the middle of a brutal war, and none of this is real.” 

He hears himself say the words, each crazier than the previous one. He describes the last months of the war, the people they slayed and the people they lost. It’s almost as if it’s not him talking at all, not him breaking apart on the floor. With a detachedness that would have scared him if he could still feel, he wonders if they are going to lock him up in some kind of madhouse or just put him out of his misery before he can sully the family name. Not that it matters: none of this is real anyway. 

When he finally stops rambling, his voice is hoarse and Dimitri no longer looks afraid. 

Instead, he looks thoughtful. “I believe you,” he says resolutely.

Dimitri’s words echo through Felix’s crazed mind and hollow chest. “What?” 

“I said, I believe you,” Dimitri repeats.

Felix barks a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t pity me.” 

“I’m not.” Dimitri shakes his head. “Ever since you woke up, you’ve been different. Felix, _look at me_. I’ve known you for as long as I can remember. I know you better than I know myself. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice how you lied to me? I saw you that night at the Goddess Tower. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me the truth for months.” 

“How do you know if this is the truth, and I haven’t just gone insane?” 

“Ever since you nearly died, I have been having dreams. Well, not really dreams. More like nightmares,” he says as if it explains anything. Before Felix can ask him exactly that, he adds: “Flashes of death and destruction, more often than not at my own hands. I remember Glenn dying in my arms, burned from head to toe. And yet he is here. My father is alive, but I know I carried his decapitated head all the way back to Fhirdiad when I was thirteen.” 

Felix’s eyes go wide and his mouth falls open. “W-what— are you trying to _say_?” 

“I thought I was going mad, you know?” Dimitri confesses, and Felix can see the truth of his words in his eyes. He spent a lifetime watching him after all. Just not this lifetime. “All this time, I thought I was going crazy because I kept dreaming about a world at war. Your father, dying in my arms while saying…” 

Felix was not there when his father breathed his last, but Byleth — perhaps out of mercy, perhaps out of duty — recounted his last words to him. In the solace of his own room, he mulled them over time and again. Even now, in the throes of hysteria, Felix can remember them clearly.

“Prove it,” he spits out. “Prove it to me. What were my father’s last words?” 

Dimitri swallows, looking reluctant, almost as if he wants to be wrong. When he opens his mouth and speaks, Felix whispers the words along: “Your life is your own. It belongs to no other, living or dead. Live for what you believe in.” 

Felix’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit.” 

“And then,” Dimitri says with tears in his eyes, looking exactly like he remembers his older counterpart. “And then, just before he died, he told me I looked just like my father.” 

“Holy shit,” Felix repeats like a broken record, and the world stops spinning at long last. “How do you know that?”

“I told you already, I’ve been having odd dreams for months.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Felix asks incredulously.

Dimitri doesn’t answer him, but his singular raised brow says more than a thousand words.

“Good point.” Felix says quickly, running his hands over Dimitri’s face. His warm skin, his stubble, his straight nose. He feels… real. “You’re.... real?”

 _I’m not dead?_ He thinks but doesn’t dare ask. 

Dimitri nods, and lets him go. Slowly, Felix sits back up. He touches the floor. It feels real. It _is_ real. He leans forward and touches Dimitri’s cheek carefully, gently caressing the line of his jaw, picturing the way it will sharpen over time. Which he knows, because he saw it, because all of this is real.

“Holy shit,” Felix echoes again, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Do you believe me now?” Dimitri asks, and Felix nods dumbly, unable to keep his hands off him because he is real, but so is _his_ Dimitri. 

He doesn’t understand anything that is going on here, but even during Dimitri’s worst moments, Felix still stayed by his side. Believed in him. Despite his best efforts not to, he always has, he realizes.

He looks at Dimitri, and nods again. “Yes, I believe you.” 

When Dimitri smiles, it is a fragile thing. So familiar it makes his entire chest ache deliciously in yearning for a man not so different from the one in front of him. 

“Tell me everything,” he asks. 

He couldn’t have refused him even if he wanted to, and so Felix does just that.

He talks about Duscur. About the tragedy, not the bravery, about Glenn. Then about the western rebellion, and the monster that took his friend.

“That’s why you called me Boar,” Dimitri remarks sadly. “I wondered why it sounded so familiar, why it irked me so.”

A fresh wave of shame washes over Felix. “I shouldn’t have called you that,” he says, his voice still hoarse. “I was young and stupid, too self absorbed to realize you were suffering.”

“You were suffering too.”

“That’s not an excuse to hurt others.” 

Dimitri kisses him gently to shut him up. It’s different now, but he still wants this desperately, Felix realizes.

When they break apart, Felix talks about his memories of their year at the academy, the one he remembers, so unlike the ones they have spent together. When he speaks of Edelgard’s betrayal, Dimitri almost doesn’t believe him.

“She’s not like that,” he defends strongly. “El would never do that.”

“Maybe not this Edelgard,” Felix begrudgingly admits. “But the one I knew most certainly did.” 

Dimitri violently shakes his head, his fists balled. “She is my sister. I can’t imagine wishing for her head like you describe.” Felix wisely does not reply. “But it does explain your reaction. You must have been very scared in Remire, am I right?”

“I wasn’t afraid.” He’d long lost the capacity for fear after seeing his worst nightmares come true too many times.

But Dimitri does not agree. “I recall now. You were trembling, your eyes wild with fear. But I could only see the blood on your hands, and hear the foul words you said about someone I care about.”

“ _Your_ sister is not the Flame Emperor,” Felix says diplomatically. “I shouldn’t have judged her for sins she never committed.” But even now it is hard not to think of Edelgard and not see all the pain she had caused, all the death and destruction she had sowed in his timeline.

Dimitri nods and puts a careful hand on his shoulder, urging him to continue.

Felix spares the details on how they found Dimitri at the reunion. Something about the way Dimitri looks at him makes him think that he knows what went on in his head better than Felix does. Dimitri recalls vivid images and particularly haunting moments, but the devil is in the details. It hurts to talk about his father, about the things they never talked about. But it is an old pain, at this point. What hurts more, is the look of anguish that crosses Dimitri’s face when he realizes they were never together.

“I did… desire you,” Felix admits when he can’t stand the look on Dimitri’s face. “Back then, I mean. Although it only made me angrier with you, because I thought the you I loved was dead.”

“But it wasn’t that simple.”

Felix nods, folding his hands in his lap. “It wasn’t.”

For a moment, neither of them says a word. Dimitri retracts his hand and Felix doesn’t reach for him, despite every instinct ingrained within him the past few months screaming at him. There is an ache underneath his skin where Dimitri’s fingers last touched him.

Dimitri clears his throat. “For what it’s worth, I apologize for forcing myself upon you. Your reaction suddenly makes a lot more sense.” He rakes a hand through his hair and it falls into his face limply, making him look strikingly like the teenage Dimitri Felix once knew, including a fresh dosage of melancholy and self-loathing. “I feel like a waste of space. Can you ever forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive. You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you,” Felix says sharply.

“Still…”

Felix wants to reach forward and kiss that frown off his face, tell him it’s alright, that they will be alright. But he’s done lying, both to himself as well to the rest, and that’s a promise he can’t make. 

“I wish you had told me sooner,” Dimitri says miserably.

“Me too,” Felix says softly. He squeezes his eyes shut and adds: “I… I have trouble being honest about what I feel. Sharing what troubles me.”

“You are a product of your time, from what you’ve just told me,” Dimitri says. “But you’re talking now. To me.”

“You’re different.”

Dimitri blinks. “Am I? How so?”

“You know why,” Felix grits out, but the look on Dimitri’s face betrays that that is obviously not the case. “You’ve… you’ve always been someone I admired. Well… you used to be. You are, in this reality,” he admits, but as soon as the words leave his mouth they feel like lies. “No, that’s not true. The way my Dimitri has pulled himself from his head and rose above his demons… I admire that. He has moved onwards, while I am forever stuck in the past. Literally, and figuratively.” 

Felix barks a miserable laugh, draws his knees up and wraps his arms around himself in a cold mockery of an embrace. 

“You should tell him that when you return.”

Felix sighs deeply, knowing exactly who he means. “ _When_? Impossible. Byleth and I tried everything we could think of to return me,” he says bitterly. “And even if I did return by some miracle. Why would he listen to me? What right do I have to make apologies? No, some things are impossible, and I don’t like entertaining pointless fantasies.” 

“The school year is almost over. It is true that the church holds many important documents, but so does the Royal Library, and the Fhirdiad School Sorcery,” Dimitri says.

“The professor — I mean, Byleth — said she sent letters to several institutes for related texts and spells, but nothing we received amounted to anything.”

“Why her?” Dimitri asks, an odd quality to his tone. Felix sneaks a peek at his face, but his eyes are unreadable behind the curtain of his bangs. “Why did you trust her, and not Glenn?” _Not me?_ Felix hears clear as day.

“Because…” He clears his throat. No more lies. “I’m a lone wolf. It’s my strength and my weakness. I try to solve everything on my own. Besides, I trusted nobody, so I told nobody. But Byleth saw right through me. She always has, to be honest. Comes with being a mercenary I guess,” he adds offhandedly.

Dimitri laughs incredulously. “They let a mercenary become a teacher at Garreg Mach?”

Felix is about to explain that he’d rather learn from someone with real life experience than a _knight_ before he realized something.

“Wasn’t Jeralt a mercenary before he became the teacher of the Blue Lions?” He says slowly.

Dimitri shakes his head. “He was a knight. He became a teacher after his wife died to better take care of his daughter. As far as I am aware, Byleth attended the Academy as a student at a young age before joining the knights of Seiros, and eventually becoming their commander. She is quite well known as— ”

A memory, not from that other life, but from a few months ago, when she almost broke all of his ribs just to get her point across, and it had worked. Even now, Felix easily recalled what Byleth said:

_“I get to keep an eye on you. And when you slip up….” She drags her finger slowly across her throat. “Before I was the Captain of the Knights of Seiros, I was a mercenary. They called me— “_

“The Ashen Demon?” He recalls slowly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

He isn’t surprised when Dimitri shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of that nickname. No, as the Fell Star, actually.”

_“They called me the Ashen Demon. If I find out you’ve been lying to me, I will show you exactly how I earned that nickname.”_

He’s not surprised, not after every shock he has had to endure the past few hours. No, his blood is boiling with the heat of a thousand suns in a way that is almost nostalgic. “That lying _bitch,”_ Felix screeches. “She _knew_! She said she doubted me, but she knew all along!”

He jumps up to his feet, fury fueling his lethargic limbs. 

“Now that you mention it, all the memories I recall feature her in some capacity. Almost like she is some sort of interdimensional anchor,” Dimitri wonders out loud.

And despite the fact that he only has known about this time, dimensional or _whatever for the love of Sothis kind of travel_ is at play here, Dimitri already understands it better than he does because that actually makes _sense_. 

Felix would be happy about that, if his blood wasn’t boiling in his veins from anger.

“Every _fucking_ time something fishy time related happens, she’s at the center of it...” Felix kicks the desk out of sheer frustration “Goddess… why didn’t I see it before? I’m going to kill her! Come, Dimitri! We’ve got a liar to skin. I’m going to wring her neck, maybe that will get her to talk!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the Byleth plot twist, which to my surprise nobody saw coming! (And there is more to come...) Although, granted, a lot of you guys had serious questions about Byleth's role and knowledge, so kudos to you for being on the right track. This is why I remained cryptical in my review replies, don't want to spoil the fun. I had a lot of fun writing all the little scenes, and giving some spotlight to characters I haven't been able to give as much love, like Annette and Ashe. You two deserve love too. (And a good excuse to write happy dimilix just being kids and going on weird adventures in the snow together....)
> 
> The duel between Felix and Glenn as a breaking point for Felix was one of the first scenes I can up with when conceptualizing this fic. I really liked that line from his support with Byleth in which he realizes that despite claiming that the past is the past, he still has been training to beat his brother. I imagine that for thirteen-year-old Felix, Glenn was the pinnacle of combat prowess. But that same Glenn was still a kid, and this PW!Glenn never had to fight to survive. For someone like Felix I imagine there is nothing worse than finding out that the thing that gave you purpose, your goal, is not what you imagined it was. I hope I was able to deliver on the emotional buildup, and made you guys realize that there is a lot more at play here that Felix doesn't know.
> 
> Anyway, enough ranting. Thank you all for your patience, I look forward to your reactions and I hope that you will remain happy and healthy!


	7. burning half as long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the truth is brought to light.

There is a minor uproar by the time they make it out of their hideout, but Felix pays little attention. His blood boils, and with every step he takes, he curses Byleth for tricking him, and himself for not seeing through her lies before.

Dimitri’s hand on his own — warm, real and unflinching — is the only thing that keeps him from completely losing his cool. He ignores the questioning gazes they attract from friends and strangers alike, but it’s impossible to shake off Glenn when he catches wind of them.

“There you are! Where the hell did you two go?” Glenn exclaims, blocking their path when they don’t answer him immediately. 

Blaiddyd strength is occasionally very handy. Dimitri shoves Glenn aside without breaking a sweat. “My apologies, Glenn. We are on a rather time-sensitive quest.” 

Felix would have hit him for the joke if he wasn’t still reeling on the inside. They walk a little faster, crossing every threshold and searching every corridor.

But his brother isn’t that easily shaken off. The more adamantly they avoid him, the more tenaciously he follows.

“Please,” Dimitri bargains, his hand still around Felix’s, holding on like a lifeline. “We will explain later. We need to find Captain Byleth with haste. Either help us search or leave us.” Those final words have an authorial glint to them that makes Felix do a double take. For a fleeting moment, this Dimitri sounds just like the man he might become. A glimpse of the future. 

His heart beats faster. He’s going to his Dimitri. He’s going _home_. 

For a tense moment, Glenn freezes, but Felix isn’t the only person susceptible to following orders from the family they were raised from birth to obey. In the end, Glenn rolls his eyes and falls in step behind them with only mild complaining. 

_There is an irony to it all,_ Felix thinks as they leave no stone unturned, combing through the monastery with surprising efficiency. _Fraldarius and Blaiddyd, side by side, working together._

In the past, he would have raged at the thought of it, but now the echo of their legendary ancestry gives him a strange sense of security. This is real, his brother is real, but so are his memories. He doesn’t have proof, but he doesn’t need it anymore. His brother taught him to trust his gut instinct, and even if _this_ Glenn is eyeing him with an increasing amount of distrust, that lesson still holds true in Felix’s heart.

Most of the knights haven’t returned to the monastery yet, but the suspiciously friendly gatekeeper divulges that Byleth has. 

“We will find her,” Dimitri whispers just when Felix is about to unleash a frustrated scream. “But first, we ought to get rid of our followers.”

He points at Ingrid and Sylvain, followed closely by a few other Blue Lions, who have joined their search despite not knowing the reason. If he wasn’t so angry, he would probably feel all kinds of warm emotions right now. But as it stands, he has always been a single-minded individual.

Felix shakes his head and hisses back: “I don’t care who hears. The time for secrecy is over.”

Their success is inevitable: they find the ‘professor’ in the training ground, speaking to his father of all people. Seteth and Manuela stand beside them, and although Felix can not hear a word they’re saying, he can tell by the looks on their faces alone that whatever they’re discussing can’t be good news.

Whatever it is, it can wait until after the truth is unearthed. “ _Professor_ ,” Felix says menacingly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “There you are.”

Byleth doesn’t even deign to look up. “I am no professor, Felix,” she says in lieu of a greeting. 

“Felix, please— “ his father starts, but Felix ignores him and his disappointed look. He has plenty of practice doing so. 

“You fooled me once, but I won’t be fooled again,” he growls. “Dimitri remembers, too.”

Next to him, Dimitri nods solemnly. 

“Captain, my apologies for my son’s behaviour, he hasn’t been himself lately—” 

“No offense taken. I know how to handle unruly teenagers,” Byleth says kindly to Rodrigue, before turning to Dimitri and Felix. “And, pray tell me, what is it that you think you remember?” She sounds bored. 

Felix is about to spit his vitriol, but Dimitri silences him with a raised hand. “You were there for me during _that_ year, despite the fact that I wanted nothing but revenge,” he recalls, words loaded with emotions not his own. “You made me reconsider my future, if only for a moment. Not that it mattered when E… when _the Flame Emperor_ declared war.” 

For a second, it’s almost as if Byleth hadn’t heard a single word he said. But Glenn sure did.

“What the hell are you two talking about…?” he asks, his gaze shooting between the two of them. 

“Shut up Glenn, not now,” Felix says. 

Whatever his brother has to say about that is drowned out when Byleth finally speaks. “I see that Felix has talked to you, despite my advice.” Her voice is light, but Felix knows her well enough to recognize the thread hidden underneath. “I didn’t think you would believe his delusions, Dimitri.” 

Felix snarls at her, but Byleth doesn’t even acknowledge him.

“He _did_ talk to me. But he wasn’t there at the reunion, not when you found me first,” Dimitri says. He looks so composed, but through their linked hands Felix can feel the tremors. “I recall it like a fever dream, although you shine brightly in my mind. I thought you were haunting me. Like my father. Like my stepmother. Like Glenn.”

“Okay, you two need to tell me what the hell is going on here,” Glenn hisses, but neither Felix nor Dimitri pay him any attention.

They stare at Byleth. Her neutral, enigmatic expression is gone, marred with a slight frown. But still, she keeps her silence.

“Say something!” Felix demands, fire running through his blood. “You knew, didn’t you?” 

Byleth neither confirms nor denies his accusations, and it’s only fuel for the anger coursing through his veins. 

“Why did you make me doubt myself? Why did you want me to believe none of it happened?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

But Felix isn’t done with her. “I thought you understood me! Amongst all those blabbering, blind idiots, you saw me. A kindred soul!” His voice breaks, and he sounds more desperate than he would like, but he’s done with betrayal, done with lies at every corner. When it is all stripped away, all that remains is a boy, shivering with anger and fear. He hates how small he sounds. “You never wanted to help me, did you?”

Seteth takes a step forward. “That’s enough of your impudence, boy. Who do you think— “ 

“I _did_ want to help you,” Byleth says so very softly, and yet her words silence all the excited chatter around them. “The world you came from is dead, Felix. Or it will soon be, at least.”

Felix blinks, his throat dry. _“What?”_

“Path of the Azure Moon, year 1186, the last day of Harpstring Moon. The day of your ‘ _death’_ was not the end of the conflict,” she recalls with a distant look in her eyes. “I remember it well. It was my first life, after all.”

“Byleth, what are you talking about…?” Seteth wonders. 

Byleth does not answer him. “I choose to teach the Blue Lions on a whim. It was just a job, after all. I didn’t expect my decision to decide the path of fate, but it did.” She lets out a dry, broken laugh that sounds so foreign coming from her lips. “We won the war, of course. All is well that ends well, right? But the children I once taught were still dead, and the country was in ruins.” 

Felix swallows. He has heard her lie many times before, but she never sounded like this: final and cold. “What… what happened?” 

“Dimitri assumed the throne after the war, and with you at his side every step of the way, he spent his life ruling justly over Fódlan. He married, had children. You did not.” She rakes a hand through her hair, looking far older than her years. “He died before he reached the age of forty, and you wasted away raising his children and grandchildren in the many years that followed, until you finally took your own life.” 

Dimitri shakes his head. “We— No. No, I would never. _Felix_ would never — Right, Felix?”

Felix can feel his eyes on him, as well as those of the quickly gathering crowd. He ignores them and releases the hilt of his sword to grasp the front of his shirt, press his hand against his beating heart.

He doesn’t believe in pointless sacrifice, in endlessly glorifying the supposed wishes of those who have passed. But if Dimitri died… _Blaiddyd and Fraldarius. Kyphon and Loog. Felix and Dimitri_. A pair. Without one, there is no other. He understands that now. A dark, dreadful feeling settles over him. It is knowledge, an inevitably. Like a red string of fate — or rather, a noose. 

“Why?” he asks, his voice sounding nothing like his own.

Byleth sighs, and for a second she looks like the professor he remembers. “I don’t know how you ended up here, Felix. But I do know what your life was like. How you suffered, before and after I met you. I lied to you, yes. Not out of cruelty, but out of kindness,” she explains, never breaking eye contact. A wealth of emotions swirls underneath that inexpressive facade, but most surprisingly is the grief that shines through. “I lived a long life, but for all of my years I could never change the world, fix what had been broken.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Glenn mutters, and Felix is inclined to agree with him.

Byleth continues. “That didn’t stop me from trying, of course. Not until my dying breath. Imagine my surprise when one morning I didn’t wake up in my bedroom in Garreg Mach as the hundred-and-fifty-year-old archbishop of the Church of Seiros, but on the road to Garreg Mach as a twenty-one-year-old mercenary.” She barks a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “Like you, I told nobody what I had endured in my _dreams_. But when the time came, I chose the Black Eagles. When the time came, I chose to follow Edelgard.”

Felix’s eyes fly wide open. “You wouldn’t!”

“I believed I could control her. Change her, maybe. I don’t remember entirely what I thought in my naivete. It was a long time ago.” Byleth shakes her head. “Dorothea did not die that time. But you all did, some of you by my hand. And in the end, when Seiros herself lay dead at my feet, I died and was reborn again.”

“I choose the Golden Deer next. I discovered the truth, but it did not set me free. People died and the world was in ruins. I died and woke up again. And again. And again.” Byleth closes her eyes for a second, and her normally impassive face hinted at an old pain, older than time itself. “Do you understand now, Felix?”

What feels like a thousand eyes drilled into the back of his soul, and yet Felix can’t will his lips to move. _Yes. No_. _Impossible._ But he has been living in this alternate universe for months. If there is one thing he learned from this entire ordeal, it is that memories aren’t as trustworthy as he would have liked. So he trusts his instincts. In the end, it is the deep sadness in Byleth’s eyes that convinces him of her words.

“Maybe,” he admits after a pregnant pause. “What I understand is that you can send me back.” 

“I might be able to,” Byleth confesses. “But I won’t.”

Felix bares his teeth. “I told you before. They NEED me. You _will_ take me back!” 

Byleth shakes her head calmly, unimpressed. “I could cut open the fabric of this world, of time and space itself. You have seen me do it before in your lifetime, after my father died.” 

He dids and wonders why they never talked about that after the shock of her mint green hair wore off. 

“I could do that again, but there is no guarantee it would return you to your own timeline. More importantly, it might break this timeline altogether. I couldn’t risk this world: this almost perfect world I had worked so hard to create right up until the moment you showed up.”

“Excuse me, but did you say almost perfect?” Dimitri asks, his words polite but his voice teetering on the edge of threatening.

“You said you regained your memories, Dimitri,” Byleth says slowly. “Do you remember what happened on the 29th of Pegasus Moon?”

Dimitri looks at Felix hopefully. While he only has flashes and moments, Felix has the benefit of having lived through all those horrible, horrible years. 

“The Flame Emperor revealed herself and declared war on the continent,” Felix says diplomatically, deliberately not looking at the hustle of people they have attracted. “But the Flame Emperor doesn’t exist here, nor does the Death Knight. Everyone is alive, as a matter of fact.”

“For now,” Byleth says ominously. “I believe that my continued existence will only end once I can find a way to keep you all alive. To create a perfect world.”

Felix scoffs. “Such a thing is impossible. Some goals and ambitions in life, visions for the future, are simply incompatible.”

“Yes, I realize that. I know that objectively I can’t please everyone. But there must be some way to prevent the world from ending, right?” She laughs, a little bitter and a little broken. “Every time, I wake up earlier in my life. With every repeat, I can change a bit more of the timeline. But no matter what I do — no matter how hard I try — the world always goes to hell on the 29th of Pegasus Moon.”

“That’s next weekend,” Seteth whispers, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Byleth nods. 

“With all due respect, that makes no sense,” Dimitri says. “You’re telling me that there is no way to stop E— _the Flame Emperor_ from declaring war? I can’t believe that. No, I _refuse_ to believe that.” 

“What war do you keep talking about?” Manuela pipes up, but is swiftly ignored.

Felix runs his thumb over the back of Dimitri’s hand absentmindedly. “I know I was the one to accuse her before, but I’ve shadowed her every move for months. There is no hidden army lying in wait, ready to attack.”

“Fate is surprisingly punctual,” Byleth says and Felix can’t tell if it is a joke or not. “I killed Edelgard before she could rise as Emperor a few times. It didn’t matter. Another took her place. I hunted Thales down and killed him before the end of the year, but, in that lifetime, Almyra declared war on us on the 29th of Pegasus Moon. The war that followed burned both countries to the ground. My next lifetime, foreign relationships were better than ever, but the peasants rose up in a bloody war.” 

Byleth’s voice trembles. There are bags under her eyes and her entire posture is resigned. It’s not a good look. “Time and again, I have tried. I prevented every tragedy that shaped the key players’ lives. After what seems like a thousand lifetimes, I was able to prevent the Tragedy of Duscur. Then the Insurrection of the Seven. I used every last drop of divine blood flowing through my veins, every scrap of knowledge I have gathered over the ages I’ve lived, but no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try: the world always descends into ruin on the 29th of Pegasus Moon.”

Before she can say another word, a giant of a man blocks Felix’s sight. 

“Byleth,” Jeralt says, trying to sound gentle. “Byleth, what in Sothis’ name are you talking about?”

In all this time, he’s never seen Byleth break down before. It’s hard to remain angry with her when she buries her face into her father’s chest and mutters brokenly: “No matter what I do… No matter how many times I’ve tried… It is never enough…” 

“Byleth?” Jeralt sounds alarmed, wrapping his arms around her. “Talk to me, sweetie. What kind of elaborate charade are you two pulling— “ 

“No charade, Father. When Rhea put the heart of Sothis in my unbeating chest, it didn’t just give me life.” 

“How— “ 

Seteth suddenly raises his voice, sounding strangled. “Okay, that’s enough. All of you, out!” he demands. “This is a private affair. Knights, please clear the training grounds. More information about this will be provided at a later date.” 

After a tense moment, Catherine and Shamir jump into gear and start ushering people out. 

“You heard the man, off you go. Nothing to see here,” Alois proclaims loudly, but even a blind man would be able to see the doubt in his eyes.

“We are not leaving until we have answers,” Dimitri states with all the confidence of royalty. 

Seteth sighs, eyeing their hands, still linked together. “Very well then. You two have a lot to explain, but the rest of you— “ 

“Will stay with our friends,” Ingrid proclaims, stepping forward with a lance in hand. “They owe us an explanation as much as Captain Byleth does.” 

Seteth’s eyes narrow. “She owes you _nothing_.”

“She does,” Sylvain says, standing next to Ingrid. For once, there is nothing sleazy about his posture, and his gaze is intensely focused. 

_They look like knights,_ Felix thinks, but then shakes his head. No. Not knights. They look loyal, brave and true, like the man and woman he knows they _will_ become. His heart grows three sizes.

Knowing they have his back, he feels twice as strong. “I’ll shout all the church’s secrets from the rooftop if you stop them,” Felix threatens. 

Seteth turns and stares at him for a moment, to gauge the truth of his words. Felix shoots a sharp smile, daring him to try and stop him. Somehow, it works. “Very well, but only the Blue Lions and the staff. The rest of you, _out_.” 

Most of the students are persuaded by a combination of Seteth’s demand and Catherine’s sharp sword. 

As expected, Glenn is not. He turns to Byleth. “Sothis’ heart? Time travel? Who— no, _what_ are you?” Glenn asks without any tact.

“I don’t know anymore,” Byleth replies, brutally honest. When she let’s go of her father, red streaks her face. “The goddess dwells within me, but she is dead. Yet creation cannot die, not truly.”

Seteth’s breath hitches in chest, and his eyes grow wide.

Every word Byleth says makes less sense, and Felix is glad that his brother is just as skeptical as he is. 

“If this is some kind of elaborate prank…” Glenn drawls out slowly, his bruised hand on his lance.

“Glenn, don’t,” Rodrigue warns softly, but Byleth is unbothered by his behavior. 

She looks him straight in the eye. “Sometimes, your left shoulder aches terribly out of the blue. You’ve visited many healers for it, but no one can pinpoint why, am I correct?”

That’s news to Felix, but not to his father, from what he can gather from his reaction. He watches Glenn’s hand shoot up to his arm, clutching it tightly. He nods after a second. 

Byleth studies him for a second, and then asks: “Do you have a death wish, Glenn Victor Fraldarius?” 

Glenn frowns. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Just something I have been wondering for a while. You see, it took me over two hundred repetitions to keep you alive until this point. Time and again, you died protecting Dimitri some way or another. From an axe, a poisoned arrow, but most often, a dark spell that would have otherwise killed him. You shield him with your own body, taking the brunt of the magic that will kill you with that aching shoulder.” She steps out of her father’s embrace and lightly touches the back of Glenn’s shoulder. “Here, am I right?”

Glenn looks at her for a long moment. “You’re speaking the truth.” It’s half a question and half a plea for her to deny it. 

“I am.” It sounds like an apology. “Have you ever had nightmares? Traced invisible wounds on your skin that never scarred?”

Glenn doesn’t say anything, but Felix knows him well, even after all these years. For a long time, all Glenn does is stare at Byleth, and she stares back, waiting patiently. Byleth’s face is impassive while a thousand emotions flicker over Glenn’s face. But unlike Felix, Glenn always was proficient in Faith. After a moment that stretches into eternity, his ramrod posture slumps in acceptance. 

“So you’re telling me that you are some kind of… divine being, caught in a time loop of trying to prevent a continent-scale war?” Glenn sums up.

“Something like that,” Byleth says, to the shock of many here. “I can reverse time, to a certain extent. I could reverse this day, and make sure this never happened at all.” 

Felix steps forward. “Then why haven’t you?” 

Byleth sighs. “I’m tired. So very tired.” 

Slowly, anger rears its ugly head again in Felix’s chest. “Could you always do this? Why didn’t you—” 

A hand’s sudden weight on his shoulder cuts him off. When he glances backwards, it’s his father’s, who is standing behind him with a grim look on his face. 

“Son,” Rodrigue says gravely. “Maybe it’s time to reveal your part in this story.” It’s gently worded, but Felix understands: it is not a request.

Felix curses mentally. He revels in the warmth of his father’s touch, knowing that it will be for the last time. Then, he shrugs his hand off, ducks his head, and mutters, “I’m not your Felix. Haven’t been since I woke up in the infirmary months back.” 

“I see,” Rodrigue says, his voice revealing nothing of his thoughts. “Do you have any idea what happened to my son?” 

Felix bites his lip. “I have an idea.”

“So you’re from another timeline?” Glenn interrupts. 

“Something like that,” Felix says, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “I’m not eighteen.” 

Glenn curses under his breath. “I should have figured that from our duel.”

Felix dares to look at Glenn. His brother, who isn’t his brother, not really. He lost Glenn almost a decade ago, and yet he hasn’t finished grieving. He doesn’t dare turn to his father to see the look in his eyes. He thought he’d gotten used to his disapproval, but death changes a man. 

Slowly but surely he divulges a little about the life he remembers. About the Tragedy, and every little tragedy that came after. He tries to be gentle about it, but there is no gentle way to speak about the atrocities he has seen, has committed. He has never been good with words, to say the least, but there is a catharsis in telling everyone he cares about who he is, and why he has become that way. 

“But you’re still you,” Annette says, after he has finished an abbreviated version of events. “I barely knew you before you left. And although you’ve been acting a bit differently, deep down, you’re the same person.”

“I suppose,” Felix says off-handedly, but Annette’s blinding smile takes some of the weight off his shoulders anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ingrid demands, the anger that he felt bubbling underneath her skin finally coming to the surface.

“Would you have believed me?”

“Yes,” Ingrid says, looking downright insulted. “Maybe not immediately. But I could have helped you. We both could have. We’re _friends_ , Felix!” Then her determined voice falters. “Or is it different, in your world?”

Felix can feel the weight of Sylvain’s gaze pinprick his back. “It’s different,” he says stubbornly, but when he sees Sylvain’s shoulders drop he quickly adds, “But we’re still friends. No, more like siblings. I…I wouldn’t have made it this far without you two.”

“Then stop trying to take on the weight of the world on your own,” Sylvain says, a wealth of emotion behind his words. 

“Okay,” Felix whispers while blinking back tears, his voice raw. “I…I’ll try.”

There are a thousand things he hasn’t told them yet. About Glenn. About the days at the academy, and the endless years searching for a prince that did not want to be found. About the way they all clung together some nights, pretending not to hear each other cry.

Felix forces himself to look at his friends. They’re younger than he remembers, but when he finally meets their eyes, he finds that Annette was right. They’re still the same people, deep down. He swallows a fresh wave of tears, but it doesn’t work. The single drop that breaks free is not one of sadness, but of sheer, undiluted relief. 

Sylvain, a notorious hater of tears, immediately jumps into action. “Okay, that’s not allowed. We’re hugging, now.”

Felix puts up nothing more than a token struggle before he allows two of his oldest friends to pull him into a group hug that feels more like home than anything has since waking up in this world.

“But how did you end up here?” Jeralt asks after they break apart.

Felix shrugs. “I died while we tried to recapture Fhirdiad,” he says simply.

Byleth shakes her head. “You didn’t die. Well, not permanently, at least. I would have made sure of that.” 

“Where were these time powers when we needed them?” Felix sneers back. “When my father died, for instance? Or your own, for that matter?” 

In the back, he hears Rodrigue gasp, but he pays no attention to it. He isn’t done being angry at Byleth by a long shot. 

Before it can come to blows, Dimitri steps in. “More importantly, let’s talk about the fact that _apparently_ this world is headed for certain doom. Is that correct, _Professor_?” 

For some reason that draws a rare, sincere smile from Byleth. “You never change, do you, Dimitri,” she says fondly, and a strange wave of jealousy rears its head in Felix’s stomach. “There is no certainty. This could be the timeline that finally maintains the peace I have worked so hard to maintain.” 

“But you don’t believe that.” 

She shakes her head. “I don’t. If you have seen what I have seen, you no longer hope for miracles.” Then she turns to Felix. “You’ve seen the signs too, haven’t you?” 

His first instinct is to deny it, but then memories of blood and slaughter, of the pulse of forbidden magic burning into his veins, return to him, and it all clicks into place.

“Remire,” he says without a shadow of a doubt. “And the strange sigils in the church. Were you the one that cleaned it up?” 

Byleth nods. “I was surprised you didn’t recognize them, considering the fact that they were in that book we found in the forbidden library. I swear, that place is so disorganized, even after all these lifetimes I still keep finding new books beneath the rubble,” she adds under her breath before turning back to him, her voice grave. “Rhea and Seteth know a little about my situation. As much as they need to know, at least. Together, we have been trying to figure out what kind of calamity we are heading towards, and if we can prevent it.” 

The missing knights suddenly make sense, as does Jeralt’s surprising leniency.

Felix takes a deep breath. “Can you?”

Byleth’s gaze drops to the ground. “I’m…not certain.” Is what she says, but all Felix hears is _‘no.’_

He grips the hilt of his sword painfully. The 29th. Next weekend. Seven days before his worst nightmares come back to life in an entirely new fashion. He’s not afraid of battle, but he’s tired of it. _The months of peace have made me weak,_ he thinks, self-loathing swirling in his gut. He almost longs for the days when all he did was exist to fight, when he had nothing to lose.

His gaze inevitably wanders from Byleth to family and friends, until it finally lands on Dimitri. He curses under his breath. That was never true, now was it? No matter how hard he tried to be a lone wolf, there were always people he could lose. 

“Maybe that’s why Felix is here,” Dimitri says suddenly, drawing Felix from his thoughts. “There has to be a reason for all of this, right? Has someone from a previous timeline shown up before?”

“No,” Byleth answers, looking oddly at Felix. “But it might be a fluke.” 

“Maybe,” Felix says.

“But maybe not,” Glenn adds, putting his hand on Felix’s shoulder. 

Felix freezes. His brother squeezes once, and Felix can almost hear him think. _It’s alright, kiddo_. Like he would say every time Felix crept into his room after a nightmare. 

His brother had no control over his nightmares then and doesn’t control the apparently inevitable apocalypse headed their way. But the simple gesture still makes him stand a little taller, feel a little stronger, because that is who his brother was — no, _is._ Someone who would do the impossible or die trying.

Felix swallows his fears. He suddenly understands his father a little better. “We won’t find out if we stay here. We have one week to pull off the impossible. Let’s get to work.”

Dimitri nods solemnly. 

Byleth “But I still don’t know what is going to happen!” 

“We’ll find a way, Professor,” Dimitri promises solemnly, sounding so much like the Dimitri who Felix remembers that he feels nauseous from homesickness. 

Byleth does not look convinced, but Felix is. He knows that if he is going to save this world, it will be with these people by his side. 

“Very well,” Byleth says after a long silence, a rare smile on her face. “Let’s give it a shot. It’s not like I have anything left to lose.” 

* * *

The next few days are a whirlwind of people he has only vaguely interacted with before.Rhea questions him and Byleth for hours, revealing a few funny details like the fact that she’s over a thousand years old and also Saint Seiros. 

Likewise, Byleth spares no one's feelings. Whoever doesn’t believe their story is quickly silenced by a comprehensive account of every last detail about their lives — past and future. The vault of her memory is bottomless, ranging from their favorite meal to whatever item the person in question has been missing for weeks. 

She tells them every bloody detail until Ashe throws up and Annette starts crying, and Dimitri not-so-gently asks her to choose her words a bit more carefully. He stands awkwardly next to Edelgard, decidedly not looking at each other after Byleth tells them exactly how many times they have killed each other. 

Felix doesn’t sleep that night, although Dimitri does everything within his power to get him to calm down. They’re together most days, digging through their collective memories in order to find out what is going on. Knights comb the area surrounding Garreg Mach and find several places like the abandoned church, riddled with old curses that not even Seteth and Hanneman can make sense of. 

But they keep trying and don’t stop trying. Felix is not a particularly religious man, but at night, after Dimitri finally falls asleep next to him, he prays that it will be enough. 

* * *

His father tries to speak to him in between his busy schedule, but Felix manages to avoid him. He’ll speak to him later, he vows. There is still time to talk, for Felix to figure out what he wants to say. The wound of his father’s death is still fresh and aching. In comparison, the one left behind by Glenn’s death is more like an old companion: painful at times, but as much part of him as his own two hands.

They’re very alike, he and his brother. Too much, their father used to mutter from time to time before Glenn died, but never after. _It’s not just our appearance,_ he thinks as he watches Glenn’s reflection in the water in the rare moment that he has to himself. Just like Felix has been avoiding Rodrigue, Glenn has been avoiding him. His brother watches from afar, not approaching. For three days now, Glenn hasn’t said a word to him that wasn’t necessary, but Felix can feel the weight of his gaze follow him everywhere.

They’re alike, yes. But Glenn always had more patience, and Felix’s has been sorely tested in the past few days. 

“Are you going to come out of your hiding spot or not?” Felix calls out, not caring how childish he sounds. “You suck at it, by the way. Don’t bother training for an assassin certification.”

For a moment, neither of them move. Then, Glenn walks towards him and sits down on the pier as if he had planned to do that all along. For a while they do nothing but sit there, side by side, looking at their reflections on the surface of the lake, almost as if they’re waiting for the other to fade away at any moment. A warm, early spring breeze combs through their equally dark hair. 

“So,” Glenn says after a moment, sounding so familiarly awkward that it makes Felix cringe, “I’m dead.”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks,” Glenn says. Felix nods, playing with a loose thread of his uniform, wanting to be anywhere but here right now. His brother looks about the same. “What about Ingrid?”

“She’s…” Not _fine_. None of them really were after Duscur. But…“She made something of herself. She’s a knight. A better one than you were.”

“That’s...that’s _good_ ,” Glenn swallows deeply. “And His Highness?”

Felix winces and counts to ten. “He’s been improving lately,” he says quickly, remembering the raging beast one second and the crying man the next. The once and future king, broken but better because of it, raising his banners to retake the capital. 

A wave of homesickness overcomes him suddenly, inexplicably. He clutches his chest, right where he took the magic blast meant for Dimitri. He didn’t die, according to Byleth, but it sure felt like that.

“And…and you?” Glenn asks, sounding nothing like his abrasive self. 

Felix sighes. He hates feeling like the older brother. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Of all things Glenn could have said, Felix did not expect that. “The things you said when you woke up suddenly make a lot more sense. And when we talked at the ball, too. And when we fought…Your world must be pretty terrible, for my crybaby little brother to grow up so ruthless.”

“I did what I had to do to survive,” Felix says wryly, drawing his knees up to his chest and decidedly not looking at his brother. 

“That sucks,” Glenn says eloquently. Neither of them are good at this, but when Glenn scoots closer and drapes an arm around his shoulders, Felix can almost pretend he is thirteen again, and that everything is alright. Almost.

“It does,” he agrees, and if he had any tears left, he would probably have shed them. “But if — no, _when_ I get back, I’ll make sure it all becomes worth it.”

He can feel rather than see Glenn’s surprise. “You’re not staying here?”

“They _need_ me,” Felix stresses for what feels like the hundredth time. “If there is any way to get back — after this world is safe, of course — I will take it.”

“Do you really want to go back? After all you have lost?”

Felix turns to him. “Don’t you want your little brother back?”

Glenn raises a single eyebrow. “My little brother is sitting right here,” he says resolutely. The light of the winter sun catches on his armor, and it’s almost enough to send Felix running. “I won’t pretend to understand how all of this works. I don’t. But I know you’re still _you_ , Felix Hugo Fraldarius. My little brother.”

Warmth blossoms in his chest, and the wind no longer feels cold. 

“I’m older than you,” Felix tries to be nonchalant but fails when tears he didn’t think he still had start to spill. _Damn it._ He wipes them away furiously, but they just keep coming and coming. 

Glenn draws him into the circle of his arms and barks a laugh. “Not in this world, you’re not.”

There are a thousand things about Glenn that he is suddenly remembering all at once. The way he smells, the way his curly hair tickles against his ear, and the way his embrace always makes Felix feel like the world isn’t so scary after all. He clings tighter, fingers clawing into his brother’s back, afraid to forget this newly rediscovered knowledge. Glenn doesn’t let go. For a second the world is perfect, and Felix considers changing his mind and staying here forever. 

But then he opens his eyes and spots his father and Dimitri staring at them from the dining area. With the tears blurring his vision, he can almost see Dimitri as he will be in five years: tall, solemn, regal. His heart breaks a little, but it’s a good kind of pain.

He pulls back from his brother’s embrace. “I have to go,” he says resolutely, and the words feel right. “Not now, not today. But someday.”

“I know,” Glenn says with watery eyes. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“I…I do,” he croaks. A pang of ravenous hunger for approval Felix didn’t realize he’d had for over a decade — no, a lifetime — suddenly feels satisfied. 

They huddle together for a long time, not talking much. Felix doesn’t enjoy this kind of contact, usually, but he can’t find it in himself to be the one to break apart. Someday he will leave, and his brother will be dead. He can’t change that, has made peace with it. Like he told Dimitri — his Dimitri, that is — he won’t live his life wallowing in loss. 

But here, for this moment lost in time, he’ll cling to it and do what thirteen-year-old Felix never allowed himself to: grieve and remember. 

* * *

Under Byleth’s guidance, they search every nook and cranny of Garreg Mach. Abyss is turned upside down, to the chagrin of its inhabitants. But even Yuri can become helpful with the right motivation, acknowledging that a potential apocalypse will hurt them all. 

They try, and they don’t stop trying. There are sigils everywhere, humming with energy that resonates with his Crest. _Drawn with Dragon’s Blood_ , Rhea explains with disgust. It takes days to dispel them all. And even then, they are grasping at straws.

They try and try and try. But on the morning of the 29th of Pegasus moon, they still don’t know if it is enough.

Felix wakes up early, safely locked in Dimitri’s embrace. He doesn’t care if people know he spent the night there or if people heard the way Dimitri made him sing last night in a desperate attempt to savor what peace they have. 

Dimitri is still snoring. His chest rises and falls like it always does, and Felix allows himself to just _be._ His heart is full and his body is loved. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of Dimitri’s neck, and relishes in the way he unconsciously leans into it. 

“I love you,” Felix whispers into his skin.

“I love you too,” Dimitri mumbles back in his sleep. It’s an automatic response, the feeling so deeply ingrained that he doesn’t need to be awake to feel it, to express it.

His cheeks heat up and his heart bursts out of his chest. One day, Felix hopes, he’ll be able to say these words to his face without feeling like the world is ending. He might be able to say them to his own Dimitri too. 

But the world is ending today, he reminds himself, even if they don’t know from what. The sun has barely peeked above the horizon, and Felix makes the conscious decision to pretend to sleep for a little while longer. He buries his face into Dimitri’s bare chest, counts every scar and every freckle, and prays that this won’t be the last time he gets to see them.

Breakfast is a quiet, tense affair. He sits on Dimitri’s right while Glenn watches his back, joking half-heartedly with Sylvain. Every now and then, he meets his father’s eyes. There are a thousand conversations they still need to have, and Felix regrets avoiding him the past week, months, or perhaps even years. Last night, he wrote his father a letter. This morning, when he delivered it, his father had an envelope for him prepared in return. They briefly wished each other the best of luck, struggling to find the words and reminding Felix that they’re not so different, after all. 

For a moment, he allows himself to consider the people surrounding him. Their nervous chatter. Dimitri’s hand in his own. Maybe, he prays, maybe Byleth is wrong, and this is enough. 

It isn’t. 

Just before noon, the world suddenly becomes a little brighter, a little sharper. Magic awakens under his skin, buzzing unsettlingly. It’s just like in the chapel, but stronger. No, _darker_. His head pounds, his limbs tingle with sudden fatigue, and he feels dizzy. But above all, he feels an ancient force pulling at him, begging him to let go, to release a hidden power stored within his blood. 

Flayn’s sudden, high-pitched cry doesn’t sound entirely human. Felix turns to Byleth, who only looks pained. Her skin looks paler than usual, a green, almost metallic sheen to it. He opens his mouth to ask her what that means, what the hell is going on, but he never gets the chance.

For days, Felix wondered what would happen. Ashe and Annette came up with a thousand scenarios, and yet none of them came close to this: the very stones underneath his feet light up in an eerie green color. They shake, suddenly brimming with untamed energy. 

Felix falls to the ground, his ears ringing and his vision swimming from the sudden impact of sheer, undiluted dark magic coursing through his veins. Through squinting eyes, he can see that he isn’t the only one. Ingrid lies next to him, clutching her head. Sylvain is draped protectively on top of her, but he, too, is shaking from pain. A quick look around reveals that everyone with a Crest is suddenly affected. 

And that’s when Felix knows this is the end. 

  
“Get down!” Someone calls over the panicked crowd — Manuela, probably. “Get out of the building, it’s about to fall down!” 

Felix tries to listen, tries to move at all, but he can’t control his body. His major Crest has been an aid all his life, but right now the very blood in his veins is in open rebellion, and it takes everything he has to keep it from destroying him on the inside.

Suddenly, a pair of strong hands encircle his waist, dragging him away. It is Dedue, unbothered by a Crest, who moves Felix and Dimitri out of the dining hall. The second fresh air hits his face, he breathes for what feels like the first time in forever. The further they get away from the main buildings, the more he can think. But the green light doesn’t fade, nor does the earth stop quaking. 

_Release me!_ Something primal in his blood screams, dark and demanding, devouring every other part of him. _Set me free from this mortal coil!_

As soon as Dedue puts him down, he grasps for his sword and mindlessly cuts into his own skin. Only when his blood flows onto the dirt, does the pain in his chest alleviate enough to allow him to breathe freely. 

_Good_ , a heavy voice goads him. _Bleed more. Release me!_

“Felix, Your Highness,” Dedue says worriedly, pulling him out of his trance. “Put away the swords, please.” 

Felix blinks, suddenly aware of himself. He allows Dedue to push his sword aside. One look at the rest of his Crest-bearing classmates tells him that he isn’t the only one who found that fix, and the thought makes him sick. 

“Are you alright?” Dimitri asks him, looking the furthest thing of okay himself. 

Felix doesn’t answer, because suddenly a large shadow passes over them. Felix looks up and nearly falls back to the ground again in shock. Above them, a dragon soars. No, not one. Three. The Cathedral shakes and shakes, ominous green light pulsing from it, a little brighter with each wave. Around him, people start to panic in full.

 _This isn’t good,_ Felix tries to say, but can’t find the air to do so. The world fizzles out around him, pain ripping through his veins everywhere he’s not bleeding. His vision fades to black for a second, or maybe an eternity. He doesn’t know. He flickers in and out of consciousness, always grasping at reality but never quite catching it.

All he can feel is Dimitri, holding his hand. His fingers are rough and calloused, but his touch is soft when he traces circles into the inside of his palm. He doesn’t know when they started holding hands, but he doesn’t have to look to know it’s his. Even while writhing on the ground in pain so intense he’s blinded by it, he can still pick Dimitri from a crowd based on the feel of his skin alone. 

Then, as quickly as it came, the green light fades and the world stops shaking. Everything is quiet. Too quiet.

Felix scrambles to his feet, pulling Dimitri along with him. They weave through puddles of blood and crowds of frightened people, pointing at the three giant dragons that are still circling the monastery eratically.

As expected, he finds Byleth in the center of the madness. The Sword of the Creator glows in her hand.

“What happened?” Felix demands breathlessly. 

“The sigils, the rituals…They were all part of a release spell,” she says, her eyes on the three dragons above. One of them is vaguely familiar, although he can’t quite place it. 

“A release of what?” Dimitri asks. “I thought my blood was going to burst out of my veins. I have never felt a pain that intense.”

Byleth looks desperate. “That was only the beginning, I’m afraid.” There is something odd about her voice, almost as if there is an echo to it. “The spell undid the Goddess’ protection of Garreg Mach, Sothis Shield, that has guarded this place since the beginning of time.”

“Protection from what?” Felix asks.

The universe answers. The sky becomes bright, and beams of light rain down from above. The first one hits the Cathedral, obliterating the roof in one big explosion. 

People cry out in surprise and fear as shockwaves follow. The ancient building crumbles, falling apart within seconds. Before Felix can catch his breath, another javelin of light follows, but in a flash of either clarity or madness, one of the dragons throws it out of orbit. It explodes in the distance while the dragon roars in vicious victory.

“We can’t hang around,” Byleth barks at them, shaking them out of their shock. “We need to get everyone out of here, quickly! They won’t stop until this place is razed to the ground.” 

“Who are _they_?” Felix asks, running after her, his sword drawn. 

“The Agarthans!” Byleth calls over her shoulder. Next to them, a building shakes dangerously. “Sometimes known as Those Who Slither in the Dark. They’re the people behind the war, the Tragedy of Duscur and pretty much every other disaster of the past thousand years! I thought I had eradicated them, but evidently— ” she says something else after that, but Felix can’t hear her over the sound of a crowd of screaming students that runs into them. 

Byleth manages to escape, but Felix and Dimitri are just a second too late. A blinding flash robs them of their vision, and they lose sight of Byleth after that. 

During the war, Felix thought he had gotten used to the feeling of the world ending. But he was wrong. here in the middle of a burning apocalypse, surrounded by crumbling buildings and mysterious magic that might kill them with a moment's notice, their blood-shot eyes meet, and they understand.

“I love you,” Dimitri says, softly, tenderly, clinging to each word like it will be the last time he gets to speak them. He might be right.

“I know. Me too,” Felix echoes weakly, and he surges forward, capturing Dimitri’s lips in one blinding, searing kiss that lasts a moment and feels like an eternity. 

Around them, the world lights up, the roof burns, and people are screaming. Despite the horror, there is only this: Dimitri and Felix, together as one, as they were always supposed to be.

 _It’s not enough,_ he thinks desperately when they pull apart. A lifetime of those lips against his own still wouldn’t be enough. But he knows that this moment is all they’re going to get. 

Nothing has ever been as hard as separating himself from Dimitri, but he manages. They nod, and a tear travels down Dimitri’s face. 

“We’ll save as many as we can,” he says resolutely, sounding like the king he will one day be. 

Felix unsheathes his sword, bares his bloody teeth and vows to go down fighting by Dimitri’s side, to make sure that day will see the light. 

For years — decades — his sword was more familiar than his own skin. It is an extension of his arm, of his soul. A swing of his weapon, a soldier down decapitated, repeat. He trained for years and years, just to be ready for this exact moment, just to realize that in the time of their greatest need, his sword is useless. It can’t cut down the debris that is falling down, it can’t calm the people that are trampling each other in their panic.

Navigating through the chaos and destruction is hard, but they move like one. Dimitri finds Edelgard and Claude, and together the three of them rally their classmates into one unified force. Above them, hell rains down, but, outside of the Monastery walls, the green grass remains untouched. Ingrid and Claude fly the wounded there while Dimitri uses his monstrous strength to lift the debris out of the way for those who are able to make the journey on foot.

Above them, the dragons are too busy attacking each other and the javelins of light to pay attention to the people below them, but Felix keeps one eye on them and one on Dimitri’s back at all times nonetheless. 

They try, they keep trying despite the utter desperation of the situation. But it isn’t enough.

This time, when the end arrives, he sees it coming. He sees the way the stone gate creaks and groans until it collapses right above Dimitri’s head, and suddenly he understands exactly what Glenn and his father must have felt right before they breathed their last: purpose.

For one last time, he ignores Ingrid’s warning and throws his entire body weight against Dimitri’s, pushing him out of the way, to safety. He closes his eyes before the debris falls down on him, regretting all the things he wished he could have said and done, but not this last act.

“Felix!” The crushing pain is blinding, but not as agonizing as Dimitri’s tortured scream. 

If he’s well enough to scream Felix’s name, he’s safe, Felix thinks, and just like that all regret fades away. He smiles as darkness envelops him one final time, and then he is no more. 

—

—

—

> Felix is dead. He knows what dying feels like by now, the way the numbness eats at everything he is, faster and faster, until he is no more. For a blessed moment that might as well be forever, Felix is nothing. There are no more regrets, no more pain and desperation. 
> 
> And then suddenly, he _is_ once more. A spark, a tiny, brilliant pulse of light. That’s how it starts. For what seems like an eternity, Felix solely exists in the space that stretches between sleeping and waking. 
> 
> Then, slowly, the world around him manifests. He doesn’t feel pain, or anything else. There is only darkness surrounding him, and a faint, flickering green light, just out of reach. It’s slowly becoming bigger, or maybe Felix is getting closer. He can’t tell which one it is. 
> 
> He’s all alone. No Glenn, no father, nobody else except him and the void. If this is the afterlife, Felix doesn’t like it one bit. 
> 
> It takes a moment to remember how to breathe after he realizes that he can, and then another to calm himself. When he looks at his hands, they’re covered in half-dried blood. Callused and scarred, in a way he hasn’t seen in months. He doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know that, in this void, he at least is twenty-three again. Small mercies.
> 
> When he realizes he can, Felix wipes the blood off his hands and gets up. He’s never been one to sit around and do nothing. No matter how long or in which direction he wanders, nothing truly changes. There is no beginning and no end, but there is a center he keeps circling back to, in the middle of which is a dark green throne. It is empty, or at least it looks that way. Sometimes something — _someone?_ — flickers in and out of existence, but it’s not the green-haired girl he saw last time.
> 
> He walks towards it in a straight line and still manages to get lost in a maze. Memories plague his mind, because not even in death he is truly free. But he keeps walking, keeps marching, one step after the other. He doesn’t tire; death is lighter than a feather, but duty is heavier than a mountain, and that weight has been resting on his shoulders since the day he was born.
> 
> When he finally — finally — reaches the stairs, he runs up them, his heart beating wildly in his chest. But Dimitri isn’t there when he reaches the top. 
> 
> “Expecting someone else?” A taunting yet oh-so-familiar voice pipes up from the throne. 
> 
> Felix blinks. From the dark void, a familiar young man slowly materializes, sitting sideways on the throne, his legs thrown disrespectfully over the armrest. He’s wearing a face Felix has seen a million times before in the mirror.
> 
> “You’re me,” Felix says.
> 
> His seventeen-year-old reflection rolls his eyes petulantly. “Took you long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely art at the end here is part of a bigger artwork made by the amazing Mikan, go give her love [here](https://twitter.com/yadntve) Her full artwork will be posted next chapter!
> 
> For those who wish to know what exactly happened at the end: the 'release' spell had as a side effect that like in Silver Snow, those with draconic blood (so the dragons and those with Crests) go berserk. This was heavily inspired to the good old ancient dragon corruption that is prevalent in ye olde fire emblem games. In those games, this side of the dragons is often contained by binding their transformation to a dragon stone, but those don't really exist here, do they? So Felix's blood trying to break free was literally the blood of the Shield Dragon begging for release. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys love the reveal and the world plot that was going on in the background the entire time. If you go back, you can see that Byleth was up to a lot in the background. I always wanted to write a timeloop au from an outsider's pov. I really loved writing the big reveal. Sorry this took me so long, but I struggled to rewrite the fight scene at the end. Don't worry, we're not done yet. Next chapter is the last 'regular' chapter, and chapter 9 is the epilogue. 
> 
> Next up, it's time for some self-reflection. Literally, this time. (See I've been making this joke since the beginning, but only now it makes sense to you.)

**Author's Note:**

> You stalk me for more info on twitter, where I am known as [ingrimasname](https://twitter.com/ingrimasname). 
> 
> You can RT this story[ here!](https://twitter.com/ingrimasname/status/1316412550473490436)


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